I have a recurring dream. There doesn't see to be a common trigger, and the dream takes two forms-- one has my grandmother in it. The other, my dog from childhood, Dusty. Yeah, it's a little strange that my dog & grandmother could be interchangeable, especially given the level of emotion associated with the dream, but...
Dusty was a sweet-tempered mutt, mostly English setter, with a white skunk-stripe running up his black muzzle and forehead, and brown eyebrows gave him a perpetually quizzical expression. He lived to be 14, around which time he started to be unable to keep control of his "functions" overnight, and would have accidents in the kitchen. We would come down in the morning, and he would be absolutely miserable with guilt (even though we of course would never punish him for something he couldn't help). He got worse & worse, and eventually we decided to put him down.
My Gram was my outdoorsy grandmother, my Mom's mom. She used to tell me all about her Scottish grandparents, and how much she would like to have seen where they grew up--- and I like to think my own trip to Scotland a year and a half ago was fulfilling her wish by proxy. Several of my mom's cousins say how much I remind them of her, and if it's true, nothing could make me prouder-- she was an amazing, smart, warm, compassionate, and strong woman. She had what was probably alzheimers later in life, and her mind failed to the point where she didn't even recognize us anymore. Before it got that bad, it was actually worse-- she had moments of clarity where she knew what was happening to her and would beg my mother, terrified, to help her.
Anyway, the dream. In the dream, one or the other (Dusty or Gram) is alive again. Not in that "this is all perfectly normal" dream-acceptance kind of way. In the dream I know that they are supposed to be dead. But alive again they are, healthy & vibrant, and I am filled with joy. I rough-house in the yard with Dusty, playing with the soft fur on his floppy ears like I did as a child. Or, I take walks with my grandmother; she identifies plants & birds for me like when I was in high school.
My joy is short-lived. I become aware with deadly certainty that I have a choice to make. I can let them go now, and they will just quietly cease to exist again, their "real" life being the only one that ever happened. Or I can keep them with me; they'll stay alive this second time, but will have to live... and die... just as they did in the first. Their bodies & minds will fail as they did in real life. Again.
I always make the same choice in the dream. I always choose to let them go, rather than watch them suffer all over again in trade for more time together. But it always breaks my heart. I sob bitterly in the dream as I give them up, and wake up feeling the loss all over again.
Dusty was a sweet-tempered mutt, mostly English setter, with a white skunk-stripe running up his black muzzle and forehead, and brown eyebrows gave him a perpetually quizzical expression. He lived to be 14, around which time he started to be unable to keep control of his "functions" overnight, and would have accidents in the kitchen. We would come down in the morning, and he would be absolutely miserable with guilt (even though we of course would never punish him for something he couldn't help). He got worse & worse, and eventually we decided to put him down.
My Gram was my outdoorsy grandmother, my Mom's mom. She used to tell me all about her Scottish grandparents, and how much she would like to have seen where they grew up--- and I like to think my own trip to Scotland a year and a half ago was fulfilling her wish by proxy. Several of my mom's cousins say how much I remind them of her, and if it's true, nothing could make me prouder-- she was an amazing, smart, warm, compassionate, and strong woman. She had what was probably alzheimers later in life, and her mind failed to the point where she didn't even recognize us anymore. Before it got that bad, it was actually worse-- she had moments of clarity where she knew what was happening to her and would beg my mother, terrified, to help her.
Anyway, the dream. In the dream, one or the other (Dusty or Gram) is alive again. Not in that "this is all perfectly normal" dream-acceptance kind of way. In the dream I know that they are supposed to be dead. But alive again they are, healthy & vibrant, and I am filled with joy. I rough-house in the yard with Dusty, playing with the soft fur on his floppy ears like I did as a child. Or, I take walks with my grandmother; she identifies plants & birds for me like when I was in high school.
My joy is short-lived. I become aware with deadly certainty that I have a choice to make. I can let them go now, and they will just quietly cease to exist again, their "real" life being the only one that ever happened. Or I can keep them with me; they'll stay alive this second time, but will have to live... and die... just as they did in the first. Their bodies & minds will fail as they did in real life. Again.
I always make the same choice in the dream. I always choose to let them go, rather than watch them suffer all over again in trade for more time together. But it always breaks my heart. I sob bitterly in the dream as I give them up, and wake up feeling the loss all over again.
1 comment:
You know what is really interesting about the version I have of this dream with one or the other of my parents? There's nothing in my mind that hints that I can make a choice -- it's a given that given that one of them is alive again, I'm going to have to watch them die again. I wonder if I can change that next time I have that dream...
In any case, I know how awful it feels to wake up feeling loss and then thinking, "Well...why am I having THAT dream??" :(
I love the description of your grandmother, btw. -- great writing.
Post a Comment