It’s a Dog’s Breakfast

It is what it is. Unless it ain’t.


I don’t always dream when I sleep. And when I do dream, typically most of it’s forgotten before my feet swing out over the bed and touch the floor. But occasionally you get one of those dreams that sticks.

So I had one of these the other night. It didn’t have a whole story arc, and I can’t tell you every detail. But it involved being at my parent’s old house. The one I did most of my growing up in. It felt just like home. My girlfiend was there with me. We were in the kitchen, chatting to my Mom and gently ribbing her about her endless diet attempts. Though I don’t recall Mom ever wearing track suits (though she was always a staunch proponent of comfy clothes), there she was standing at the kitchen counter chit-chatting and laughing with us while we teased.

I remember feeling so damn happy. My girlfriend never really got to know my mom as she had already been quite ill when this wonderful new part of my life started. In the dream, I sort of felt this.. or at least this is why I felt so damn happy. My mom and my girlfriend and I just being together. I felt immense satisfaction.

I woke up from that dream almost smiling. My brain absolutely flooded with happy thoughts. Dang.. what a lovely happy dream.

Then as the fog of waking up lifted, I suddenly remembered that Mom was gone - that this moment would never be.


I’m neither an emotionless robot nor an Alan Alda feeling factory. But I can tell you that severe tear-mitigation mode kicked in while relating this to my girlfriend and again while writing this now.

Love the ones you love. While you can.