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A Message from My Mother

In a dream I saw my mother welcoming guests into her home.
She had been expecting them and had been busy preparing and organising everything.
She rushed to greet with open arms and led the way through the hall and into her rooms.
She didn’t see me or look at me at all as I watched, a silent witness.
Her guests followed fully assured that they would be looked after, at home in her presence.
Knowing just what to say she turned to speak, words I couldn’t hear, words that weren’t meant for me.
As she spoke she smiled, and as she smiled she turned, her hair revealing some of her face.
She looked youthful and happy, but that’s not what grabbed my attention.
The most amazing beautiful soft white light radiated from her face.
Her face, her skin, shone translucently.
‘Now I know what an angel looks like’, I thought.
Again she turned.
Again I was granted the grace of not only seeing my mother’s face again but of witnessing all God’s love emanate.
No star could shine as bright. No angel could compare. The depths of this light went to Source.
O Joy! A glimpse again, only partial but always the same white softness and depth.
'In God's house my mother dwells.
She welcomes all her loved ones and leads them home.
I look forward to the day she looks my way.
.... my mother, God's Heavenly Hostess'.

by Jean McLoughlin

Winning Second Place in Nayda Ivette Negron's "Angels" Contest 1/1/2016

A Note from the Author
In this poem I describe a dream I had about my mother who sadly passed away many years ago. 
But what I don't mention is that I had this dream the same night my Auntie (my mother's sister) had a tragic accident and passed away soon after. 
My Nanny (my mother's mother) and another Auntie (another of Mum's sisters) who had been suffering from cancer, had just been buried.
My mother was the oldest of 12 children and this poem was passed to all my relatives to let them know that she's there waiting to welcome them.
I take great consolation from knowing that I will see my mother again.
My mother opened the door that night, not only to her guests, but to my writing as well, as this is the first thing I ever wrote. 
It was written in loving memory of my mother and her deceased mother, brothers and sisters, family and friends.
Thank you for reading.
From Jean
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