A little while ago, maybe almost a month now, I dreamed I was standing out front of the place where we live. Grandma was there, and my parents and M, maybe a few other relatives. We were walking down the street, toward the apartments. We were going to walk down round the corner and go to see the new house being built, that would belong to M and I, somewhere near where great-aunt Bea used to live. Everyone was talking and excited about the house. As we got near the corner, Grandpa swung into step with us, saying a cheerful hello, and oh I was so happy to see him. I joyfully took his arm as I said so -- it's been so long! -- and we continued walking and talking and laughing, all going down to look at the house together.
He looked really good: as full of energy as ever I've seen him, the grandpa of my earliest memories (not that he slowed down noticeably until the last few years). Even within the dream I noticed, that I was not sure how old he looked. He wasn't young exactly, but although he appeared younger than when I'd last seen him, he was entirely himself.
And part of the reason he was so happy, I knew, was that he was happy for me. Because we're going to have a baby, you see. And I was so happy to be sharing that with him, because it's been so long. So happy. He knows.
And then as we turned the corner and came in sight of the new house, still in the wood-framing stage, I woke up.
Then I told M about it, and cried.
Cohen and Vekselberg, What’s The Story?
3 hours ago