She came to me in a dream. It probably wasn’t Mamacita at her best. I still wonder what motivated her. She had always seemed to be one of those people who would rather be right than happy. So apologizing was not her strong suit. But she had died the week before and nothing was the same.
In the dream she had summoned me to her via my husband. He was sent to bring me to a clean, rather stark, enclosed patio with a wooden walkway and a balustrade, there were windows on all sides that opened to the house. My husband guided me with one hand under my elbow and the other placed gently against my back, encouraging me along.
I remember feeling reluctant, even anxious at the prospect of seeing Mamacita. I protested but my husband walked me around the perimeter and disappeared. I stood alone.
Mamacita was seated on a wooden kitchen chair in the middle of the patio. There was nothing else anywhere in the patio. She motioned for me to approach her. I couldn’t refuse and as I moved in closer, I noticed that there was a long sheet of clear glass leaning against the back of the chair. It separated us. She watched as I me walked up to her.
When I was at her side, she stood up and reached up to me, her arms penetrated the glass as though it was water. I leaned down to embrace her through this watery glass. She said to me in a hoarse, whispery voice, “I’m sorry.”
I responded, still hugging her, “We all do what we have to do.”
Then she retreated to her side of the glass and her face morphed into what I can only imagine must have been her face 40 or 50 years earlier. She looked young and content.
The dream ended there. I woke shaken and crying. The dream remains fresh, it has never left me but I still don’t know what it meant. Mamacita never owed me an apology, as far as I knew.