Echoes of Appalachia

I woke up at 3 AM last night with my heart pounding, still heavy with emotion from the dream I’d just experienced. It was one of those dreams that felt so real, so vivid, it lingered in my chest long after I opened my eyes. It was a dream of my little Appalachian granny and my momma, a dream that took me back to a time and place filled with warmth, love, and the joy of family.

My granny on the left and momma on the right.

In my dream, we were all gathered together at my granny’s old house, the place where so many Christmas memories were made. The house was small, the familiar creaks of the floorboards underfoot, but in the dream, it felt like the biggest, coziest place in the world. The kitchen smelled like freshly baked pies and a warm fire crackled in the hearth. My aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings were all there, their voices clear and familiar in the air. I could hear the echo of my mother’s laughter, her unmistakable giggle when something tickled her funny bone. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in years, but in that moment, it was as if she had never left.

The most remarkable thing about the dream was the long table, stretched out to fit everyone in the family. I’ve always known Granny’s house to be small, but in that moment, there was room for all of us—room for the love and connection we shared, room for the stories we would tell, the laughter that would fill the air. It was as if the house had expanded to embrace the spirit of Christmas, that special time of year when everything feels right and everyone is together.

Granny spoke to me, her voice soft but clear. She asked me to put more wood on the fire, her gentle command reminding me of the countless times I had done the same for her when I was younger. I could see her, so clearly in my dream, standing by the stove in her apron, her eyes warm and wise, as they always were. Then, in a moment that made my heart swell, she told me she had seen the candles I placed in the windows every year in her memory—and in momma’s. Granny has been gone for 31 years, and momma for 16, but in that dream, they were both there, with me, as if no time had passed at all.

As the dream began to wind down, momma handed me a candle. She looked at me with those familiar eyes, full of love, and said, “Never let the light go out.” I could feel her presence so strongly in that moment, her spirit alive and well. I had never been so moved by a dream, so thankful for the chance to see them both again, to hear their voices, to hug them one more time. The dream felt like a gift, a message, a reminder of the love they gave, and the way they shaped who I am.

Christmas was always their favorite time of the year. It wasn’t about the gifts or the decorations—it was about the people, about the family coming together to share a moment of joy and gratitude. They knew that Christmas was a time to embrace the ones we love, to make memories that would last forever. It was a time to celebrate what truly mattered. And so, this Christmas, I will light that candle momma handed me in my dream. I will keep the light burning in their memory, just as I’ve always done by placing candles in the windows every year.

That dream, in the quiet of the night, was the best Christmas present I could have ever received. I may have woken up to the stillness of the dark, but for those few precious moments, I had the chance to hug my granny and momma, to feel their love, and to remember what they taught me about family, about love, and about keeping the light alive. And this Christmas, that light will burn bright, in memory of the two women who meant everything to me.