Last night, as I lay slumbering in my bed, I dreamed of death. Now, you may assume this to be nothing outside the abnormal. Your assumption, rightfully so, may be that since I move closer to death each day that my dreams also move along with me. But this is not the case. I do not, on the norm', dream about death. At least not my own death. (The death of others is a very different story. See you soon, well... sooner than you think Ti... You know what? Let's just leave that a surprise. For the record, my friend, it will not come at the hands of the robot rebellion as you've previously suggested.)
I didn't really realize, as I was dreaming, that the subject had become death. It did feel very lonely. I guess one could argue that I was dreaming about loneliness. Kristin and I have spoken, rather openly, about the concept of suicide recently. I mean, it's not something you discuss over orange Jell-O™ with the little mandarin slices inside, but we have spoken about it. As I feel like more of a burden each day, at no fault of those around me, it becomes a more prevailing thought. It jabs at my brain like the freshly unwrapped mint toothpick you picked up as you left the Sizzler™ with your Grandma and Grandpa as a child. The one you chew until it all but disintegrates in your mouth and forces you to throw it away.
The dream, last night, jumped around quite a bit. There were female friends who had just given birth to beautiful children. Babies were no where near by. Just the Moms, arms wrapped in cloth to cover IV insertions. I was doing everything I could to avoid seeing the actual baby. I was traveling. I'm not sure where I was headed. Though... I think I know now.Belle was my escort.
At each place, mostly unfamiliar coffee shops... It's important, to me if not to you, that you realize these were old-fashioned diner styled coffee shops. Not some Starbucks or other trendy shop. These places were clean but consisted of fluorescent lighting, vinyl booths (which I could not fit my considerable girth in), and people slowly sipping coffee as they spoke about topics I could not, and did not try very hard to, hear. At each place I tried to politely hurry the waitress, who I seemed to know though I made no connection with, to get on with my order (Black tea, to go, in some odd container because, although they had old fashioned, thick, ozone-killing Styrofoam cups... these cups were for coffee and not the tea. The would rig up some brewing method - I know what you're thinking but, no, this would work better - to brew my black tea, two Splenda™s into what usually seemed to be some kind of ball shaped, glass, carafe.)
Slowly I started walking towards coffee houses and then turning away. I didn't want to see the people inside. Occasionally a friend, always someone I hadn't really seen since the cancer diagnosis, would see me and invite me inside to join them and their new friends. I never wanted to join. It was all just too uncomfortable.
Later I was swept into a conversation of four people. Two of these people were strangers to me and two I seemed to remember from some recent television viewing experience. The words, the dialogue, was intense. The third person in this row of walking, talking, philosophers kept grabbing me by my arms and asking me how many times I had died. He asked these questions in relation to Christmas, though I'm not sure how or why. I think, at this point, it reflected something in my psyche about missing my parents and preparing to miss Kristin.
I could go on for months, I think, about my dreams. It's not the kind of dream I'm used to.Today, once again, I'm sore. I'm lonely. I'd like to go back to the third guy from the street conversation and punch him in the neck repeatedly.
There's a brief bit of sharing for today. Every day is newer than the one before. But each new day takes it's toll. They all take their toll.
Also, there was a whole scene with the cast of Bones (from FOX television) where they had found a flower that had crystallized into a perfect fossil.
I didn't really realize, as I was dreaming, that the subject had become death. It did feel very lonely. I guess one could argue that I was dreaming about loneliness. Kristin and I have spoken, rather openly, about the concept of suicide recently. I mean, it's not something you discuss over orange Jell-O™ with the little mandarin slices inside, but we have spoken about it. As I feel like more of a burden each day, at no fault of those around me, it becomes a more prevailing thought. It jabs at my brain like the freshly unwrapped mint toothpick you picked up as you left the Sizzler™ with your Grandma and Grandpa as a child. The one you chew until it all but disintegrates in your mouth and forces you to throw it away.
The dream, last night, jumped around quite a bit. There were female friends who had just given birth to beautiful children. Babies were no where near by. Just the Moms, arms wrapped in cloth to cover IV insertions. I was doing everything I could to avoid seeing the actual baby. I was traveling. I'm not sure where I was headed. Though... I think I know now.Belle was my escort.
At each place, mostly unfamiliar coffee shops... It's important, to me if not to you, that you realize these were old-fashioned diner styled coffee shops. Not some Starbucks or other trendy shop. These places were clean but consisted of fluorescent lighting, vinyl booths (which I could not fit my considerable girth in), and people slowly sipping coffee as they spoke about topics I could not, and did not try very hard to, hear. At each place I tried to politely hurry the waitress, who I seemed to know though I made no connection with, to get on with my order (Black tea, to go, in some odd container because, although they had old fashioned, thick, ozone-killing Styrofoam cups... these cups were for coffee and not the tea. The would rig up some brewing method - I know what you're thinking but, no, this would work better - to brew my black tea, two Splenda™s into what usually seemed to be some kind of ball shaped, glass, carafe.)
Slowly I started walking towards coffee houses and then turning away. I didn't want to see the people inside. Occasionally a friend, always someone I hadn't really seen since the cancer diagnosis, would see me and invite me inside to join them and their new friends. I never wanted to join. It was all just too uncomfortable.
Later I was swept into a conversation of four people. Two of these people were strangers to me and two I seemed to remember from some recent television viewing experience. The words, the dialogue, was intense. The third person in this row of walking, talking, philosophers kept grabbing me by my arms and asking me how many times I had died. He asked these questions in relation to Christmas, though I'm not sure how or why. I think, at this point, it reflected something in my psyche about missing my parents and preparing to miss Kristin.
I could go on for months, I think, about my dreams. It's not the kind of dream I'm used to.Today, once again, I'm sore. I'm lonely. I'd like to go back to the third guy from the street conversation and punch him in the neck repeatedly.
There's a brief bit of sharing for today. Every day is newer than the one before. But each new day takes it's toll. They all take their toll.
Also, there was a whole scene with the cast of Bones (from FOX television) where they had found a flower that had crystallized into a perfect fossil.
2 comments:
Wow. your dream has a Five People You Meet in Heaven/some other movie that I can't think of the title. It had Robin Williams in it though, I think.
I think it was only a matter of time that you would dream about dying, after all most dreams (I say most, because I truly believe God has the ability to speak to us through dreams) are from your subconscious.
Praying for a more peaceful night's sleep tonight.
You touched my heart with "preparing to miss Kristin." Your soul is beautiful and will live with us forever. Thank you for your bravery and strength. Aaron, may God bless you and carry you home. Peace be with you.
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