Tuesday, 19 June 2012
Yesterday, I wrote a post on my other website, rosasophia.com, entitled How My Father Inspired Check Out Time. In that post, I mentioned how, when I go to bed at night, I can ask my father to visit me in my dreams, and he often does. Last night, I dreamt about Dad.
When people die, they go to a place where they seem to wait a long time for something. Some people only wait a short time. Everyone has a different reason for being there, and it's personal. Some people need to learn something. Either way, there's a lot of people milling about. I've dreamt of this place a few times before. This is the second time I was there this week. The other day, I dreamt that I went there and I found my Grandpa Warren. He was so happy to see me. I wrapped my arms around him, and said, "Grandpa!" and he smiled. The strangers around us didn't seem to notice us.
Some months ago, I dreamt that I walked into a large assembly hall. People were seated everywhere, listening to a speaker. I don't know what the speaker was saying. I happened to notice that Ryan-- a friend who passed away --was sitting amongst these people, writing on a notepad and listening carefully. But I knew I couldn't go down among them; they were all very busy, and it wasn't my time to be there.
Last night, when I dreamt about Dad, I went into this great, huge place where people wait and wander. I found him in a crowd. He looked much younger, like he did when I was a kid. He was thinner, and his hair was a tad longer. He smiled when he saw me, and I threw my arms around him and exclaimed, "Dad! I'm so glad I found you here." We hugged for a long time, but we didn't say anything.
At some point in my dreams, I was in my Grandma Polly's old house. We were sitting in the sun room, when all of a sudden, Grandpa Billy appeared. I never met him-- he was my biological grandfather who died before I was born. He looked dead, which is a funny thing to say about a ghost. The thing is, many spirits don't look dead. They look very much alive, like you and I. Grandpa Billy looks dead, I think, because of all of the mistakes he made in life. He's still dealing with them. He's stuck.
In my dream, his clothes were tattered, his shoes were dirty, and his eyes were vacant. I just stared at him; he wasn't bothering me. I've seen Grandpa Billy many times before, just not like this. He did look a lot different, but I think perhaps I was seeing him when he was younger.
That was when he fell over. And beside him was lying the grandfather that I always loved so much, Warren. It was dark outside. I sobbed over Warren, like I did the day that he died, and I said, "Grandpa! Grandpa!"
When I was a kid, my grandparents' beautiful, sweet dog, Marty, died. He was a big golden retriever mix. He was so big, the family couldn't bury him alone. We enlisted the help of a neighbor, who had a backhoe. My mother and my grandparents carried Marty to the huge backyard, on a wide blue tarp, and buried him in the garden.
In my dream, we did this with both my grandfathers. We took them out by the chicken coop, and Marty's old kennel. I shrunk to little girl size, and watched as my grandmother and my mother began to dig.
In the blink of an eye, I was somewhere else-- on vacation. Chip and I were sitting in an ice cream parlour, and my eyes were vacant. I was so depressed, and I didn't know how to snap out of it. All these dark dreams were drifting through my head. I was supposed to be having fun, but instead, I was thinking about Dad, and my grandpa. I was stuck, and I didn't even know it. And that, I think, is what the dream is trying to tell me. I am stuck. And I didn't know it.
We go through our lives, dealing with things that are supposed to be important-- work, school, etc. --but sometimes, when it comes to dealing with grief and loss, we push it to the side, because we don't have "time" for it. A break down is not possible, because we have too much to do. I think what I need to do is break down. I just have to figure out how, and let myself.