(no subject)
By the pool on our trip to Las Vegas, Jean confided in me she hadn't realized my dad had died but figured it out from something I said offhand and didn't ask further, not knowing whether I was okay to talk about it. I told her what the deal was and it was fine, apologized that I have never told the people who care about me in any systematic way.
I guess this triggered something, because after a long time of not thinking about him, the other night I dreamed he was with us just as normal - an immense relief that I could finally ask him all the questions that go unaddressed. Life was going to be a lot easier. Tonight I did one better and inserted myself into the story, dreamed of waiting for him to come run some errand with me and his not appearing, eventually going into his office and finding him on the floor, the flood of chaotic thoughts, having the worst trouble dialing 911... waiting for an answer on the line, then seeing his chest move and his saying "oh, I called them like seven minutes ago," hoarse and strained. The guilt that I could have been there to help if I had gone looking for him seven minutes earlier, and the attempt to sweep that away so as not to upset him. I was aware of this whole thing as it unfolded, that it had been my brother's role to find him but now I was part of it.
So that was nice, I haven't woken up in the middle of the night with my heart racing and possibly about to cry in quite a while. All support-group morals aside, it seems like maybe over two years later I could be done with the idiot dreams. All I want is to somehow start my life as a functional adult, but I am so bogged down with repercussions of his death - practically my whole life is structured by them. Just, haunted.
I guess this triggered something, because after a long time of not thinking about him, the other night I dreamed he was with us just as normal - an immense relief that I could finally ask him all the questions that go unaddressed. Life was going to be a lot easier. Tonight I did one better and inserted myself into the story, dreamed of waiting for him to come run some errand with me and his not appearing, eventually going into his office and finding him on the floor, the flood of chaotic thoughts, having the worst trouble dialing 911... waiting for an answer on the line, then seeing his chest move and his saying "oh, I called them like seven minutes ago," hoarse and strained. The guilt that I could have been there to help if I had gone looking for him seven minutes earlier, and the attempt to sweep that away so as not to upset him. I was aware of this whole thing as it unfolded, that it had been my brother's role to find him but now I was part of it.
So that was nice, I haven't woken up in the middle of the night with my heart racing and possibly about to cry in quite a while. All support-group morals aside, it seems like maybe over two years later I could be done with the idiot dreams. All I want is to somehow start my life as a functional adult, but I am so bogged down with repercussions of his death - practically my whole life is structured by them. Just, haunted.