May 25, 1991
Tim and I are living on a farm in a cute little wooden house. The whole dream has vegetables and fruit and farm products throughout; we all were always handling home grown food. Gramma lives with us. It’s the real Gramma Gallaway, younger then when she died, but still old. Short black hair, white at the temples, the same print housedress, the same bib apron over it. She wasn’t as fat as she really was in real life. I said to Tim, “Gramma is losing weight.” At first Gramma was a little reticent, after all, she just came back from the dead. But as the dream progressed she got sprier as she got used to being alive again after 35 years of being dead. She adapted quickly. Soon she was following us around in our work routine, lifting spirits wherever she walked. She didn’t come back to being eighty years old, she came back at somewhere around sixty. She made it up and down steps pretty fast, I remember Gramma going slowly up and down steps when she got old. In the dream, Gramma was happy. She was useful. She was wanted, especially by me. This is the best dream I ever had, even better than the fleeting dreams I had about Johnny. I got my gramma back, my best gramma, my favorite relative in the whole world of my childhood.
I kept an eye on her pretty closely at first because I thought she might hurt herself or get lost while going down to get the mail. But the more the dream went on the more relaxed I got with her. She loved living with us and we loved having her. Gramma never did get in anyone’s space nor tell anyone what to do and she wasn’t nosy. But she was curious. And she was a very good-natured kindly trickster. I can’t wait to see what pranks she’ll pull in up-and-coming dreams.
~ Frances GallopAway