Just a memory
I had a dream about my mom last night. I haven't had one in a while, and the three I've had before were all bizarre, where she was undead or a ghost. In this one, she was definitely just a memory. Someone in the dream sent me a video he'd taken of me on an airplane (the person sending the video was someone I barely knew through people on LJ, and the person committed suicide after sending me the tape--which was all very bizarre, but didn't especially pertain to the mom part of the dream), and my mom was on the tape near the end. I watched the video with my family, and when the tape advanced to the part where she was, I just kind of watched thinking, "Oh, there's my mom. I've never seen this video before."
Now that I'm recalling the dream, I also remember looking through some jewelry with someone and thinking it was ugly, and I remember going to a church and seeing my mom's old friends Helen and Richard and Stephanie, and Helen's daughter Catherine, and all of them asking me how I was. I assured them all that I was just fine, and doing much better, and they seemed really impressed, like by now they wouldn't be so fine.
Interesting. I am feeling pretty good lately. I still wouldn't say I'm 100% happy again, but I do feel like I'm standing on my own feet more and more and becoming all the time more comfortable in my surroundings. And in some ways, "My Mom" is becoming a memory rather than a recent event. It's hard, because you don't want to feel that way; you want the person who's gone to be as immediate as she always was, but for that to happen, the sickness and death and suffering--both of the person who's gone and of yourself and your family--have to be immediate. Or else you have to be totally loony and convince yourself the person is still alive. But the best thing for everyone is to keep going. Keep wading in the grief. Sometimes the waves are intense and knock you back a little, but you can't stop wading. And you have to expect that the waves grow more subtle and gentle. Maybe until you are taken out to sea yourself and someone else replaces you on the shore.
Now that I'm recalling the dream, I also remember looking through some jewelry with someone and thinking it was ugly, and I remember going to a church and seeing my mom's old friends Helen and Richard and Stephanie, and Helen's daughter Catherine, and all of them asking me how I was. I assured them all that I was just fine, and doing much better, and they seemed really impressed, like by now they wouldn't be so fine.
Interesting. I am feeling pretty good lately. I still wouldn't say I'm 100% happy again, but I do feel like I'm standing on my own feet more and more and becoming all the time more comfortable in my surroundings. And in some ways, "My Mom" is becoming a memory rather than a recent event. It's hard, because you don't want to feel that way; you want the person who's gone to be as immediate as she always was, but for that to happen, the sickness and death and suffering--both of the person who's gone and of yourself and your family--have to be immediate. Or else you have to be totally loony and convince yourself the person is still alive. But the best thing for everyone is to keep going. Keep wading in the grief. Sometimes the waves are intense and knock you back a little, but you can't stop wading. And you have to expect that the waves grow more subtle and gentle. Maybe until you are taken out to sea yourself and someone else replaces you on the shore.