These Dreams.
The other night I had a dream about my grandma's house. This is something that has happened every few months since she died when I was 12. But I noticed something after I woke up from this dream: I have never, that I can recall, actually dreamed about my grandma. Every time I have one of these dreams it is about her house, not about her. I also don't recall there being an implication or an assumption that she is even in the house.
The other thing that came to mind after I woke up was that these dreams are always terrible. There is a monster, a murder, a fire, something life threatening happening. And there is often a weird giant shower room in the basement that doesn't actually exist.
Other than my grandmother dying there, I have no bad memories associated with this house. I was not abused or tormented within those walls. We had huge Christmas and Easter dinners there, I rode my bike in the driveway, etc. And now, my cousin and his wife live there with their beautiful son. I can't for the life of me figure out why these dreams are always so bad. Or why my grandmother, who was one of the most important people in my life, is never actually in them.
The night after I dreamed about my grandma, I dreamed about my Dad. I dream about him often and usually there is something terrible happening in those dreams too, something you would normally expect a father to protect you from: some intruder trying to get in the house while my Dad sits in his recliner by the door and does nothing to stop him. That sort of thing. It doesn't take much thought to figure out what those dreams mean.
But the most recent one was not like that. I was taking pictures of Baby Sister while she complained that I was not doing enough to help her modeling career. Suddenly, we were in my parents old bedroom eating potato chips with French Onion dip and talking to my Dad about going to a steak tasting* (like a wine tasting, but with steak). And I remember thinking how the flannel shirt he was wearing must be new because I did not remember seeing it before. I also don't recall ever seeing his face.
And that got me to thinking: my grandma has been dead for over half my life. Maybe I used to dream about her and I just don't remember. Maybe her face dissapeared from my dreams one day. And now, 17 years later, I can't manage to create a picture of her at all.
*I am pretty sure that is not a real thing.
The other thing that came to mind after I woke up was that these dreams are always terrible. There is a monster, a murder, a fire, something life threatening happening. And there is often a weird giant shower room in the basement that doesn't actually exist.
Other than my grandmother dying there, I have no bad memories associated with this house. I was not abused or tormented within those walls. We had huge Christmas and Easter dinners there, I rode my bike in the driveway, etc. And now, my cousin and his wife live there with their beautiful son. I can't for the life of me figure out why these dreams are always so bad. Or why my grandmother, who was one of the most important people in my life, is never actually in them.
The night after I dreamed about my grandma, I dreamed about my Dad. I dream about him often and usually there is something terrible happening in those dreams too, something you would normally expect a father to protect you from: some intruder trying to get in the house while my Dad sits in his recliner by the door and does nothing to stop him. That sort of thing. It doesn't take much thought to figure out what those dreams mean.
But the most recent one was not like that. I was taking pictures of Baby Sister while she complained that I was not doing enough to help her modeling career. Suddenly, we were in my parents old bedroom eating potato chips with French Onion dip and talking to my Dad about going to a steak tasting* (like a wine tasting, but with steak). And I remember thinking how the flannel shirt he was wearing must be new because I did not remember seeing it before. I also don't recall ever seeing his face.
And that got me to thinking: my grandma has been dead for over half my life. Maybe I used to dream about her and I just don't remember. Maybe her face dissapeared from my dreams one day. And now, 17 years later, I can't manage to create a picture of her at all.
*I am pretty sure that is not a real thing.