I Dreamed a Dream (six months ago)

No, not like Fantine.  Though I did (obviously, like the Academy) find Anne Hathaway’s rendition powerful and moving.

I’m talking about the REM sleep kind of dream.  You know, like the ones you have at night when you are (hopefully) sleeping?  Well, this one was actually during the morning, and I actually thought about fictionalizing the dream itself because it was so bizarre (…like I think of myself as a peaceful type of person, and this dream was really crazy…) that I didn’t want to admit all day yesterday that this is what played out when my subconscious took over for a few minutes (and the dream literally occurred in minutes, between my 5 a.m. alarm and my 6 a.m. alarm).  Read on (but only if you are brave…or if you want to take a guess at interpretation…or if you would like to know how crazy I felt all day yesterday).

We were selling our house, and as such, we had several realtors coming to visit.  Many of them rode together in nice, black cars (think newer Lincoln Town Cars) and approached our home in groups.  All were women of varied hair color, mostly middle-aged, and professionally dressed.  One insulted my work as a “stay-at-home mother” by snickering that I would have other items to attend to during a given day that I wouldn’t be able to drop everything and help them with whatever they needed to sell this house.

The scene changed to a lavishly set dining room (mine?) with a large banquet, complete with some level of servants (and an elevator?), where a beautiful woman about my age with dark hair and gentle eyes wearing a white gown (think Fairy Godmother…or maybe the wedding dress from Enchanted) looks at me, and I know what these realtor women are–witches–and what I must do–kill them.

Let me insert here that I have never killed anything on purpose (except roaches, ants, and a few spiders…and there was that baby lizard one time…I stepped on his tail on the way in from high school classes one day who moved when I stepped, and it died…and that experience brought me to tears because I couldn’t believe I had killed it).  And, I don’t remember ever killing anyone or anything before in a dream, but I digress….

So, I know somehow that to kill these witches, I must force their hands to hold their own throats (I feel like I’m acting in a low-budget mini-series at this point…and I haven’t watched television for years), which will cause some type of chemical reaction (the skin on skin contact at that location produces smoke, or steam, or something smokey/steamy) and ends their lives (what?).  Fairy Godmother Lady is there supporting me, but I must do the deeds.

I begin by hurling large, heavy, (expensive) China dishes toward their throats, but my aim is sadly off target.  Then, I switch to good, old-fashioned, hand-to-hand combat, where I place my hand on one’s neck and as she reaches for my hand to have me release the grip, I switch her hand to be under mine and on her own throat while holding it in place by replacing my hand.

Is this gruesome for anyone else?

Top it off with echoes of these lovely images pulsating through my brain all day yesterday and you will know how happy my Monday began.

 

Upon Waking

In my dream two nights ago, I was preparing for a severe storm.  Apparently, we lived in a ginormous house, and I was on the telephone and iPad (coordinating with people who may need to come visit and stay in the basement of said ginormous house) when I received a phone call from my sister. We chatted while I worked; then, suddenly, alarm filled her voice as she said, “Your little guy is choking!” (He was staying with her for some reason, I’m guessing.) We got off the phone, and I continued my preparations for the storm. I was trying to get a weather report on the iPad (but was having connection trouble) when my phone rang again.  My sister’s voice on the other end simply said, “He’s dead.”

In that moment, (trying to assure her…or maybe even myself…?) I said, “It’s okay. I just spent the most wonderful day with him yesterday.” My mind flashed back to moments of cuddles and stories and laughter and happiness of the prior day, and I truly did feel relief that, were he dead, he died knowing his mother loved him and had done all she knew to care for him.

Upon waking, of course a bit of alarm set in, and I removed my covers as my feet carried me, almost without thinking, to his room. I reached for the spot on his back where his Batman pajama shirt had lifted and exposed a tiny stripe of skin above his waistline. I touched it and waited for my hand to rise and fall with his breath. As my hand moved up and down in time with his diaphragm’s expansion and contraction, I took a breath myself for the first time in several moments.

I proceeded to find all of my little people, alive and well, breathing the slow, heavy breath of sleep, of dreams. I fell to my knees in the last one’s room to offer up thanks for sparing their lives each day so that I can have the privilege of more sweet moments with them.

My feet then returned me toward my bedroom. As I walked through the kitchen, the microwave clock read a scarlet 2:38. Lifting my covers, I returned to bed but not to sleep. I lay pondering the day, wondering that if–or when–that phone call ever came to me, would I be able to respond with the same feeling of relief embodied in my dream–that our last moments together were blissful, peaceful, loving, happy? Would my children leave this frail existence knowing that their mother loved them? I was determined to work on sharing the love of my heart with them more readily and worry less about the little irritations and fatigue that so easily beset me. I was determined to complain less and love more, to fuss less and laugh more, to worry less and sing more.

Will you join me?

🙂