Dream

 I had a dream last night that my siblings and I were on a road trip with my grandmother. There were five of us - my older sister, me, and the next three in age order (brother, sister, brother) - being driven by grandma in her reliable dark blue sedan. Somehow, miraculously, this five-seat sedan had gained a third row, so my older sister was up front, my closest brother and I in the middle, and my younger sister and brother in the back. We drove through the day and drove through the night. The destination was important, but unclear. We stopped for food and sometimes to sleep, but much of the journey happened late at night, streetlights flicking by, the brief light illuminating our hands and faces. Our quiet conversations filled the long hours. We talked and laughed and dozed. Grandma frequently turned back to check on us, smiling.

It's funny how after fifteen years you can still see someone's face so clearly. 

I remember long drives with her to the bottom-most corner of Texas to visit my aunt and uncle, short drives to the movie theater near her house or to church, medium drives around town. 

I learned to drive in that dark blue sedan after she upgraded to a newer - but still reliable and practical - car. 

I learned to grieve when she became the first grandparent I lost. 

There are so many adult experiences I wish I could have shared with her. The joy of a marriage proposal, the excitement of college graduation, the heartbreak of rocky relationship realities, the desperation to find contentment in work, the fulfillment of creating a home, the lessons that life's ups and downs gradually teach. So many times I wish I could see her face for real and hear her voice. To see her smile as her grandchildren laugh together, faces illuminated briefly in the night.