A more recent poem

My mother came to me last night,
I would say in a dream but
she made it very clear that
it was not a dream.

"Tomorrow you will want to
believe you dreamed this,
but you didn't. It's real and I
am here for a short time."

She looked happy, clad in a
pink dress--I thought that was
odd because she was buried
in a pretty blue dress of her choice.

She said she came to ask me
to stop beating myself up,
to stop feeling guilty for transgressions
real or imagined.

"You're hurting yourself with all this
when there is no need to," she said.
"You were a good son most of the time,
wild yes, but never evil.

"You were the one with me when
I was down, the one who did the
shopping, the cooking, the cleaning.
You did more than could be expected."

But how could I explain the guilt I felt
recalling times I'd yelled at her, been
impatient because she was in my way,
slow and shuffling near the end.

"All that means nothing," she said.
"We all have our flaws, none of us are perfect.
I forgave you the moment those things happened,
they meant nothing."

She smiled and I believed her.
"How are things over there?" I asked.
"They are very nice," she said, smiling broader.
"It's a wonderful place to be."

I told her I thought I would be over there
before too much more time passed.
"Really?" she said. "We're all there,
we'll be waiting for you."

I woke up.
I'm not sure what happened but
I feel as though a ton of weight
has been lifted off my soul.

My logical mind tells me it
was all a dream.

But my heart tells
a different tale.