Someone’s mom died. Her bedroom was dark. The air was still and silent. The deep green heavy curtains were drawn tight against the bright morning sun.A single table lamp with a Tiffany-style glass shade dimly lit the room. Two others were in the room with me cleaning up and boxing her worldly belongings. The rose-colored walls held a couple of landscape paintings and a photo of her mom in black and white with a lovely silver frame.
Boxes were being filled with the contents of the single bureau, her dressing table held lots of silver jewelry and cosmetics. I went to the closed and opened the door. Inside were two dresses. Colored horizontal stripes were bright against the darkness of the closet as there was no light inside.
I looked at them for a while before being called to help load a box.
From here the dream ended and I awoke with a heavy sense of grief and sorrow.
The Journey of a thousand miles 