Next I remember THE ORANGE LIGHT.
A female energy is carrying me up the stairs in Eastmanville.
She seems tired.
It’s very late at night. I’m wrapped in a thick blanket. The multi-colored square afghan, I think. The walls are a dark wooden paneling, and there’s an orange light burning about halfway up the stairs.
I can see this from a vantage point a couple of feet above the woman, like I’m floating ahead of her.
Who is she? My “mother”, I suppose.
She will do her best, but I will outlive her way too soon. I will always wonder if there was something else I could have done.
Orange is still a worrisome comfort.
The rest of the house was dark and brown.