May 02, 2012 12:39
I'd like to talk about a dream I had the other night. I think I mentioned it in an earlier post, but I've had some time to reflect on it and with the help of my therapist, can see it for what it most likely means.
The majority of the dream I can't remember, or maybe all there was is what I'm going to talk about.
I remember being with my son as he is now. I haven't seen him for a very long time, so I don't really know what he looks like as an adult, so my subconscious replaced him with my nephew Michael. Be that as it may, it was Robert that I was perceiving. He was sitting in an armchair, slouching really, and looking really bad; underfed, drug affected, and apathetic. I said to him that his grandmother really needed him right now, that she hadn't seen him in a very long time, and that she missed him. Robert ignored me, and I implored him to please listen to me, that it was important. He looked at me with a really derisive expression on his face, and then is softened slightly. He got up, and as he stood he become much younger, about 6 or 7 years old. He looked at me all sad with tears in his eyes and said "I'm sorry Daddy".
At that point I woke up sobbing, crying like I haven't cried in a very long time. I felt miserable, alone, and hurting. It was obvious to me even then that this was a grief-inspired dream, one of loss and regret, and no doubt fuelled by the death in the household.
My therapist helped me see that although I was talking about my mother in the dream, it was in reality me that my subconscious was referring to. I have yet to come to terms with the estrangement from my children, and it hurts me deeply. Although I was talking to Robert, in a sense I was also talking to myself, and it was my subconscious that was apologising to me for the loss of my children. Seeing Robert as a young boy represents the loss I feel, that I no longer have my little boy any more, and the adult he has become is a stranger to me. It is also intertwined with death in the household, and how even though I lived with J, I barely knew him.
My therapist and I discussed anger and grief, and I was able to explain understand that I was angry at J. Angry at him for not being more open when he was alive, angry at myself for not trying to reach out to him more, angry at him for not responding to the CPR, and angry at myself for not succeeding at the CPR.
I was able to voice this anger and grief somewhat, though it felt uncomfortable. I'm glad I did it, and I kind of feel a bit of a weight has lifted off my shoulders, but I think that it hasn't entirely gone. I still have work to do here, and it's going to take a bit longer than I had hoped. I've been fooling myself for a long time that I had come to terms with my kids wanting nothing to do with me, and with J's death, but the truth is that J's death has only opened a wound that was only superficially healed, and I have to deal with that too.
dreams,
grief,
death,
kids