Did I dream you? I look at pictures and tears fill my eyes. There are no smiles, no joy in remembering. Just pain. We passed the two year anniversary and I feel like I have taken my grief underground. Retreated. Silent. All conversation is so difficult, I feel so removed, disjointed from this life. Did I dream you?
Enforced stillness from foot surgery creates a panic in me. I wore my body out, should welcome the rest…but it cages me with my broken heart. Night time is the hardest. Tears come at night, tears and longing for you. My memories are like the pictures of the devastation inflicted on the coast by the hurricane, they are covered in sand, unrecognizable. Washed away, I must have dreamt you.
I don’t remember life with you, fragments of moments, I don’t recognize the faces in pictures. A different reality. Another life. I understand why some parents cannot bear to have pictures on the walls and take them all down. Part of me has considered doing the same. There is no joy in seeing your face in photos, it just creates longing, confusion, and anger. You aren’t here anymore, why keep looking at you? You must have been a dream.
Today, this is reality. Ghosts of memories, fragmented, slivers of moments…wisps of a life once lived. Unable to say your name without tears. Unable to engage in conversation about you, haunted by how you died. A living nightmare now, not a dream.
I never had dreams of wealth or possessions. I dreamed of children, a house full of children. I did dream you, for years I dreamed you. Never in my dreams did you drown. In my dreams you had pretty babies, a slightly messy library, and a wife of saintly patience. Your pockets full of stray kittens you found along the way.
My dream was never the promotions and money at Westinghouse, the promise of my “dream job.” I dreamed of you while I was coordinating proposals, I dreamed of you while deciphering the handwriting of 50 engineers. Then, finally I held my dream. Returning to work was out of the question, meant we had to sell our house. The house was just a thing, you were real. “Don’t resign” they said, ” you are on the fast track”…I drafted my resignation letter while breathing in your newborn scent. We danced our dream of mother and child.
I did have some other dreams and hopes. Reality hits you hard and you watch your dreams fade and contort into a mockery of your hope. Death comes and your dream dies, literally.
I envision a big push broom in my mind as I sweep out the corners of old dreams, tired dreams, there are boxes with your name on them…your dreams, your hopes. They are in my head too, what to do with them? Do I pull out my mental packing tape and wrap those boxes so tight as to deny a casual peek inside them, do I dump them out on the refuse pile of my dreams and sweep them out to where unlived dreams gather to fade and die?
To sit with your dreams is too painful yet, too raw…perhaps I will not tape them shut though, nor spill them out to die. I will let them rest, I will wait to see if a light starts to shine from those boxes. I dreamed you once, maybe I can do it again.
Hi Terri,
I’ve been thinking of you and worrying about you, wondering where you were…why we hadn’t heard from you. It seems my fears were correct, it’s been a long, tough road.
If your words seem too strong, an exaggeration, to some…I can tell you they’re not. I identify with every single word you wrote. I would have never been able to imagine that life is like this for some people. I wish I still couldn’t.
I’d say I’ll pray for you but that wouldn’t do you any good…me and God are not on good terms.
Annika
It is very hard to say goodbye to the dreams and plans you had mapped out in your head for your loved ones. I still have difficulty seeing all the kids’ clothing with “Grandma” and “Grandpa” this and that on them, or, the other day in Kohl’s, the holiday shirts for adults that say things like “Proud Grandma,” etc. While I know that my children have another set of grandparents, it isn’t the same. They will still never know *my* parents, their maternal grandparents, and therefore such clothing is too painful for me to look at, much less buy for my children. My parents will never get to bake cookies for my kids or take a vacation with them or experience Christmas with them.
It is very difficult to let go of such things. Be gentle with yourself. Don’t pressure yourself or rush into anything. Live one moment at a time. Sometimes that’s all that we can do.
And someday, maybe, when it’s not so difficult and we aren’t constantly plagued by doubt, maybe we will be able to know with our heart what we know with our mind: that they achieved and realized the best dream we could have ever held for them in our hearts: salvation.
I think We all feel the same way. Just Impossible! I wake up every morning and wonder when this pain will go away. I love to read your blogs because every word you write is the way I feel. Like Annika I identify with every word you wrote. My sister always looks at me and says “I just wish I would see your Happy Terri Face Again”. It’s been Two years and 11 days for us and it feels like it was yesterday. Life is hard right now. How you can go from such a Happy life with everything you ever wanted to this life overnight! Just to hard!! I worry about my husband everyday. He is just broken!!
Terri,
I know there is nothing I can say nor do and I know I cannot even begin to imagine what you are going through. I do know; however, that your beautifully written words are helping so many. Please know that many people continue to pray often for you, Doug, Ryan and Justin. I love and miss you, my friend.
Just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you and saying a prayer.