mom dream
this morning, rochelle woke me up at around 3am. she said i had been talking and wailing and talking in my sleep. i guess she heard what i was dreaming. i was telling my mom i was gonna come see her. she had finally answered the phone from her hospital bed, and told me she was sick again, that "it" was in her throat and they needed to shave it off. in my dream, my mom looked like cher. she didn't look like cher, too much but they definitely shared the cheekbones. in my dream, she told me she wanted me to burn her a cd w/ the eurythmics "sweet dreams". i was on limewire trying to find it. when i called her, she was gasping to breathe, and so was she. i said: i am going to tell dad to buy me a ticket to see you". and when i was trying to tell people what was going on, hardly anything would come out of my mouth because i could not catch my breath. when i said goodbye, i could hear her choking.
when i woke up, my pillow was already soaked, and my face covered with snot and tears and i was sobbing, hyperventilating. and rochelle kept saying: sophia, honey, wake up, its a dream. its a dream, its ok.
and i kept trying to convince her that my mom was sick again. so she just let me talk and cry.
and then i realized, none of it was real. and shes gone. i dont know if it was more heartbreaking to realize she was dead all over again, or to think she was sick again.
i remember when she first started getting fluid in her lungs, she simply felt like she could not cath her breath, and her fucking idiot asshole doctor tried to convince us that it was psychosomatic (sp?). healthcare in puerto rico is shit and i have a lot of anger about it. not because they could have maybe saved her life, but because she suffered way too long and was trated horribly. and IGNORED. and i am pissed at myself for coming back to my life, because i felt like i had to keep on keepin' on. death is not fair. esp. when the person you are losing lives in another country.
i dont know if i posted this, but about a month ago i went to the san leandro marina. my mom and i lived down there. i pass by the house just to...see the house we lived in, the bouganvilla i planted for her. its grown so fucking HUGE. the last time i drove by, the planters (fake terra cotta) i have hung on her windows when i was 25, with a lover, had been removed. they were sitting on the side of the house. it made my heart hurt. so i stopped and slowly walked up to the house. to ask the tenants if i could have the (disposed of) planters. out came a woman who was familiar. i heard her voice and said: maria? did you work with my mom? and she put her hand over her mouth. and she realized i was rachels daughter.
maria was in a bad place with several children when my mom was moving and my mom arranged for her to take over the house. my mom left her dishes. she showed me the collander i gave my mom, which she uses now. she let me in the house, and i felt paralyzed. i lived there with my mom! she said she has some dishes in the garage my mom left her. incl. some margarita mugs. she told me when she cleans out her garage she will get them to me. i have not heard from her, but its ok. i can stop by there.
and before i left, she said to me: your mom was sick when was still here.
and i just said "i know".
i dont know because my mom admitted it, though she did admit to me in the hospital that she knew she was getting sick for some time. which enrages me.
but since i was a child, i predicted my mom would get sick and die. i also predicted my parents divorce. i remember a summer before it happened, that i would lock myself in my bedroom, lay on the bottom bunk and imagine what it would be like when my parents got divorced. i would end up crying. i was only 7, i think. no one believes me when i tell them this. they say i am crazy, but i am not.
so when my mom decided to tell me in a parking lot that she and us kids were moving out for a summer, i cried, because i knew better. the pineapple soda she gave me didn't make the blow any easier either.
but i digress. i miss my mom and i know everyone in my life is sick of hearing about it, and frankly, i am sick of talking about losing her, and making myself to be a victim of some tragic happenings. everyones mom dies. not at 51 usually, but they die. i am no exception. and i wish i could stop being a victim to her death, but it feels so unjust. and though i talk about it, i do not allow myself to fully grieve. i can only let go to the grief in my sleep. i have no armor when i sleep. this dream thing? its not the first time it happened, and i am certain it wont be the last.
sometimes i have good, matter of fact kinda dream about her, and it feels like, i am subconsciously making memories or/with her. i just wish she were not dead.
when i woke up, my pillow was already soaked, and my face covered with snot and tears and i was sobbing, hyperventilating. and rochelle kept saying: sophia, honey, wake up, its a dream. its a dream, its ok.
and i kept trying to convince her that my mom was sick again. so she just let me talk and cry.
and then i realized, none of it was real. and shes gone. i dont know if it was more heartbreaking to realize she was dead all over again, or to think she was sick again.
i remember when she first started getting fluid in her lungs, she simply felt like she could not cath her breath, and her fucking idiot asshole doctor tried to convince us that it was psychosomatic (sp?). healthcare in puerto rico is shit and i have a lot of anger about it. not because they could have maybe saved her life, but because she suffered way too long and was trated horribly. and IGNORED. and i am pissed at myself for coming back to my life, because i felt like i had to keep on keepin' on. death is not fair. esp. when the person you are losing lives in another country.
i dont know if i posted this, but about a month ago i went to the san leandro marina. my mom and i lived down there. i pass by the house just to...see the house we lived in, the bouganvilla i planted for her. its grown so fucking HUGE. the last time i drove by, the planters (fake terra cotta) i have hung on her windows when i was 25, with a lover, had been removed. they were sitting on the side of the house. it made my heart hurt. so i stopped and slowly walked up to the house. to ask the tenants if i could have the (disposed of) planters. out came a woman who was familiar. i heard her voice and said: maria? did you work with my mom? and she put her hand over her mouth. and she realized i was rachels daughter.
maria was in a bad place with several children when my mom was moving and my mom arranged for her to take over the house. my mom left her dishes. she showed me the collander i gave my mom, which she uses now. she let me in the house, and i felt paralyzed. i lived there with my mom! she said she has some dishes in the garage my mom left her. incl. some margarita mugs. she told me when she cleans out her garage she will get them to me. i have not heard from her, but its ok. i can stop by there.
and before i left, she said to me: your mom was sick when was still here.
and i just said "i know".
i dont know because my mom admitted it, though she did admit to me in the hospital that she knew she was getting sick for some time. which enrages me.
but since i was a child, i predicted my mom would get sick and die. i also predicted my parents divorce. i remember a summer before it happened, that i would lock myself in my bedroom, lay on the bottom bunk and imagine what it would be like when my parents got divorced. i would end up crying. i was only 7, i think. no one believes me when i tell them this. they say i am crazy, but i am not.
so when my mom decided to tell me in a parking lot that she and us kids were moving out for a summer, i cried, because i knew better. the pineapple soda she gave me didn't make the blow any easier either.
but i digress. i miss my mom and i know everyone in my life is sick of hearing about it, and frankly, i am sick of talking about losing her, and making myself to be a victim of some tragic happenings. everyones mom dies. not at 51 usually, but they die. i am no exception. and i wish i could stop being a victim to her death, but it feels so unjust. and though i talk about it, i do not allow myself to fully grieve. i can only let go to the grief in my sleep. i have no armor when i sleep. this dream thing? its not the first time it happened, and i am certain it wont be the last.
sometimes i have good, matter of fact kinda dream about her, and it feels like, i am subconsciously making memories or/with her. i just wish she were not dead.