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  • For the first time since my mother died I awoke with a positive dream of my mother. The memory shone out in my mind, like a beacon of healing energy.

    I had been just six years old, walking home as usual with my best friend Indira who I adored. Thick flakes of snow settled on our hair and shoulders. The snow had piled up on our path thick enough for our feet to sink into the icy cold whiteness up to our ankles.

    I was dressed in a warm waterproof coat and knee high boots. Indira shivered in a thin coat and her shoes, better suited to to dry weather, had taken in water.

    "Rachel I am too cold. I can'y go on any longer" and she sunk down on the freezing cushioned roots of a tree and huddled, sobbing.

    "Get up Indira! Get up. Get up. You can't stay here." I pleaded tugging her arms.

    "I can't." she whispered through chattering teeth.

    "What shall I do?" I asked waiting for Indira's usually wise reply. She just closed her eyes and gave herself up to the elements.

    Then to my relief, my mother appeared at the top of the tree lined lane, wearing warmly lined boots zipped up to her ankles, and a large warm overcoat.

    "I was worried about you," she said hugging me; and then she bent down and scooped Indira up into her arms, rubbed her thin arms and legs and hel her to her chest wrapping her coat around her.

    "Lets take you back to your mummy," she whispered.

    I felt so proud of my mother as I scurried along beside her.

    We reached our block of flats and assended the stairs to the third floor. Mrs Roa opened her door and shocked took her freezing daughter from her neighbour.

    "You need to dress her up in warmer clothes," my mother told her.

    Mrs Roa nodded, speechless, and called out,"thank you!" as we descended to our ground floor flat.

    It was such a surprise to remember my mother (who, by the time I was a teenager, had been irrational, egocentric, and narcissistic); at a time in her life when she showed such generosity of spirit.

    "Perhaps I can get on with the rest of my life," I thought.

    The door of my cell hissed open and a man, with the label 'dream police' on his white coat, entered my room and pulled some sensors off my head.

    "You are now ready to return to society," he told me.
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