I'm at my mother's grave and I'm holding a mirror at an angle in a way that indicates I'm reflecting light off of it at a very specific angle ... and yet it's a cloudy day, and there's no direct sunlight to reflect. But at the same time I'm viewing the whole scene from a sort of disembodied point of view which includes my mother in her casket, way down in the ground. There's a bright light dancing on her face as if I am indeed reflecting some sort of beam in her direction ... and she is younger, even though her eyes are shut and she looks like she still is dead. Her hair is done up in the style she loved in the 1960s, which is why our house was always permeated with the odor of hairspray in that era --
I wake up.