Dreaming is something I look forward to each night, and when I talked about my dreams recently, my mum asked me what sorts of dreams I actually had and what happened in them. I subscribe to the theory that dreams are a random firing of neurons, and that it's all just a matter of what is grabbed first by my sleeping mind. It's natural that work, family, friends and other preoccupations play different parts in my dreams, and although sometimes I'm plagued by spiders or balding monsters in my night-time travels, it's just something that has been picked up by my brain as just another part of the great big archive that is my mind.
This week, worrying about my sister (given the circumstances), has taken up a lot of my time. As much as she likes to play it down and tell me that it's really not a big deal, I think it's relatively normal behaviour for a sister to worry.
At night, I kept my phone beside my bed, just in case something happened. I got woken up at 3.15am a few days ago, by an sms saying that she was out of hospital. And I let out the breath that I'd been holding for a few days.
I fell back asleep. And had the most marvellous dreams. Random things: sitting on the verandah on the farm and playing Scrabble with my mum and Sabine, my dad walking along the garden path, my sister in the farmhouse kitchen making a chocolate Madeira cake, me poking around the pantry, smelling fenugreek and looking for sugar. Laughing. Smiling. Recounting stories. Everyone happy.
I woke up, feeling completely surrounded by love.
In this case, I'm lucky to remember my dreams.