It’s Just Dreams
I’ve been having dreams. “Sure,” you’d say, “ I dream too.” But you haven’t been having my dreams. Not the dreams where I go “No! Not again!” It’s like my personal hell all over again. Over and over for the past few months.
It’s been just over a year that my dad died, and two years since we actually lost him. I’m sure by now people are sighing, stop reading and carrying on with something else in their lives. But this is how I grieve, by writing things for him and for me.
This morning’s dream was different than before, but I woke up with a heavy heart and a much heavier soul. My boyfriend tried to consolidate me by saying, “When we dream of people it’s because they come visit us.” I sure hope not, because it feels like vengeance, not love. Every time I dream of my dad, the dream starts off brilliant, happy, and content. It ends off completely different, with me standing next to my dad as he dies. Over-and-over again. I was actually getting bored of those endings, so my brain tried to cook up a more sinister ending. This time, I’m having pies for lunch, I’m baking them and baking them, there are so many in the oven already. My dad has died, predictable, but this time he’s alive again. In his dead, but yet alive, state he cannot talk, however he can use his phone and computer. My family talks about how he can’t afford being dead/alive and has to apply for grants and what-not. I break down, yet again, for failing. What an awful daughter I am.
I hate dreams. They’re not nightmares, but they’re not dreams. Yes, I know my subconscious is pointing to the facts. I know who I was and what I didn’t do and this find myself a failure. But when I was 16 I used to dream of piles and piles of dead bodies, does that make me a subconscious serial killer? I was once in a futuristic landscape, with my Motorola Razr, it was the wrong colour as I had the midnight black one and the one in my dream was silver. I was running away from someone or something and suddenly the devil was calling me. Does that mean the devil was looking for me? I woke myself up, but I knew it was just a dream.
Family and dreams
My family is plagued by the dreams. I can still remember a lot of my dreams. My mother’s church put so much emphasis on dreams that you need a dream journal and your priest needs to interpret them for you. This is just someone who knows the ins and outs of your life who, like a “medium”, does hot and cold readings. The advantage they have above a medium is that they know you. So when he, it has to be a he, remember the patriarchy only works as well as one wants it to, tells you what’s going on in your dream – you take it as truth. My mom once had a dream about my brother playing in sea sand, and the priest’s interpretation was something ridiculous; that my brother has so much problems that my mom cannot fix them.
My gran, what a sweet soul, used to have “the dreams” all the time. She believed that her dreams were of the future, the present, or what is troubling you in your soul. Her believe was, was when she dreamt of me, it was my cousin, and if she dreamt of my cousin it was about me. She’s always been adamant that the night before the twin towers fell, she dreamt of a plane flying into a big sign that said America. As a child I was always in awe of her. But those are not the dreams I want.
The night before my one cousin’s fiancé died, I had a dream that my boyfriend died. I freaked out but that’s just because our brain likes patterns. We try to find meaning in useless avenues and convince ourselves that we have a touch of clairvoyance or something more sinister.
Back to the beginning
As much as I dream, I know this is how I grieve. The choices I made was clear and I do not regret them.
Dreams are just dreams. I miss my dad like any other person. I wish he was still here. He was one of a kind and I wish he met my friends/boyfriend etc. It’s just a dream, I know, but it’s mine.