Saturday, January 29, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Dreams vs. Nightmares
I used to swear I didn't have nightmares. I had scary dreams, certainly, but nothing I would categorize as a nightmare. Nothing with real emotional impact where I woke with the penny taste in my mouth from the leftover adrenaline pumping through me. I do remember one from my late teens where I saw myself with radiation poisoning, dying slowly after the third world war. I didn't find it particularly scary, just interesting. No, I didn't have nightmares. Not until I got married. When I finally had something of value to lose.
One morning, about a year into our marriage, I woke with the coppery penny taste of adrenaline in my mouth. I stormed around the house growling "stay away" whenever Steve came within range. An hour later, when I finally calmed down, I felt like a complete ass walking into the living room to announce "I was angry because of a dream." I'd dreamed he had left me for another woman, taking none of his belongings from the house, with no explanation and no goodbye. When I saw him at a party he refused to talk to me - refused to even tell me to fuck off. Just turned his back and walked away with his arm around his new woman's waist. I was angry in the dream and I was angry when I woke up.
They say anger is a masking emotion. Meaning, it covers up emotions such as sadness or fear. I believe it.
I continued to have that same dream about once or twice a year. As time went on, I was no longer angry in the dream. I was confused and sad and crazy with fear. I wanted to understand why he had left, what I had done to make him leave. And when I woke up, I'd shuffle my way into the living room, plop down on his lap, snuggle into his chest and bawl. I finally understood that these dreams were about abandonment. They were dreams about his death.
Periodically during our marriage we'd talk about my fear of his dying without the aid of my nightmares. Something monumental would happen in our life and this fear of his death would rise up in me. I'd beg him to please take care of his health. Please go see a cardiologist. Please don't leave me all alone in the world. These were the only moments I'd pester him about his weight, his numbers, his health. I knew I could hound him to good health but not without our marriage taking a huge hit. And what good was more time together if we were both miserable? So it was only in my moments of absolute fear that I'd talk to him about how his bad health scared me.
He'd cry too. He was scared of dying, of leaving me alone. He hated to see me in pain and knew if he died, no one would be here to pick up where he left off. We both thought that time was a long way off. We thought we were talking about how his bad health now would cut years off down the line. We didn't think it would cut him down in his prime. We thought this was an exercise of the future. So he would hold me, and hug me and tell me how much he loved me.
I think about those moments now. I think about crying into my drink at a bar in Philly as he waved our waitress away. How he rubbed my feet under the table and told me over and over and over again he loved me. He wasn't going to leave me. We'd race our wheelchairs when we were old and gray.
So it surprised me when, after he died, I had the same dream. He'd left me for another woman, taking nothing, explaining nothing, turning away from me when I asked him "why"? It was the same freaking dream I'd been having for years with all the same roller-coaster emotions. Except now when I padded out to the living room, there was no one to cuddle with, no one to sooth me by saying "I'll never die. I'll never leave you alone."
A couple of months later the dream changed. He had faked his death to get away from me and be with his new love. His brother Butch and I stumbled across him while walking through town. Butch was so excited to see Steve alive that he wasn't angry, just blabbing away to his little brother. And Steve blabbed right back, ignoring me the whole while. I woke, again, to the taste of bad pennies in my mouth.
It would seem my subconscious had finally caught up a bit to my reality.
Last night the dream changed once again. Steve had still left me. I had realized, only after the fact, he had tricked me into a divorce. I was in his apartment and we were having a normal afternoon of being goofy and loving and thinking about a little afternoon delight. Then I remembered we were divorced and begged him to come home. Begged him to marry me again. He would just shake his head sadly and say he couldn't. "But we still love each other" I'd say. "There's no reason for us to be apart" I'd say. He'd nod in agreement, smile and explain "We'll still be exactly the same as we were before. We'll just be apart now is the only difference." And then he asked me back to the bedroom.
I've had other dreams of Steve in the last six months. Dreams where we dance around the living room like we used to, dreams of normal days and nights, dreams I can't remember upon waking but wake with a smile on my face all the same. But it's the changing nature of these nightmares that have me intrigued the most. They help show me where my head is at. Where my heart is at. I'd like to think I'm coming to a new place. A place where the fear is still here but accepting that I can continue to love him and accept his love. We'll just be apart now. And that makes all the difference.
One morning, about a year into our marriage, I woke with the coppery penny taste of adrenaline in my mouth. I stormed around the house growling "stay away" whenever Steve came within range. An hour later, when I finally calmed down, I felt like a complete ass walking into the living room to announce "I was angry because of a dream." I'd dreamed he had left me for another woman, taking none of his belongings from the house, with no explanation and no goodbye. When I saw him at a party he refused to talk to me - refused to even tell me to fuck off. Just turned his back and walked away with his arm around his new woman's waist. I was angry in the dream and I was angry when I woke up.
They say anger is a masking emotion. Meaning, it covers up emotions such as sadness or fear. I believe it.
I continued to have that same dream about once or twice a year. As time went on, I was no longer angry in the dream. I was confused and sad and crazy with fear. I wanted to understand why he had left, what I had done to make him leave. And when I woke up, I'd shuffle my way into the living room, plop down on his lap, snuggle into his chest and bawl. I finally understood that these dreams were about abandonment. They were dreams about his death.
Periodically during our marriage we'd talk about my fear of his dying without the aid of my nightmares. Something monumental would happen in our life and this fear of his death would rise up in me. I'd beg him to please take care of his health. Please go see a cardiologist. Please don't leave me all alone in the world. These were the only moments I'd pester him about his weight, his numbers, his health. I knew I could hound him to good health but not without our marriage taking a huge hit. And what good was more time together if we were both miserable? So it was only in my moments of absolute fear that I'd talk to him about how his bad health scared me.
He'd cry too. He was scared of dying, of leaving me alone. He hated to see me in pain and knew if he died, no one would be here to pick up where he left off. We both thought that time was a long way off. We thought we were talking about how his bad health now would cut years off down the line. We didn't think it would cut him down in his prime. We thought this was an exercise of the future. So he would hold me, and hug me and tell me how much he loved me.
I think about those moments now. I think about crying into my drink at a bar in Philly as he waved our waitress away. How he rubbed my feet under the table and told me over and over and over again he loved me. He wasn't going to leave me. We'd race our wheelchairs when we were old and gray.
So it surprised me when, after he died, I had the same dream. He'd left me for another woman, taking nothing, explaining nothing, turning away from me when I asked him "why"? It was the same freaking dream I'd been having for years with all the same roller-coaster emotions. Except now when I padded out to the living room, there was no one to cuddle with, no one to sooth me by saying "I'll never die. I'll never leave you alone."
A couple of months later the dream changed. He had faked his death to get away from me and be with his new love. His brother Butch and I stumbled across him while walking through town. Butch was so excited to see Steve alive that he wasn't angry, just blabbing away to his little brother. And Steve blabbed right back, ignoring me the whole while. I woke, again, to the taste of bad pennies in my mouth.
It would seem my subconscious had finally caught up a bit to my reality.
Last night the dream changed once again. Steve had still left me. I had realized, only after the fact, he had tricked me into a divorce. I was in his apartment and we were having a normal afternoon of being goofy and loving and thinking about a little afternoon delight. Then I remembered we were divorced and begged him to come home. Begged him to marry me again. He would just shake his head sadly and say he couldn't. "But we still love each other" I'd say. "There's no reason for us to be apart" I'd say. He'd nod in agreement, smile and explain "We'll still be exactly the same as we were before. We'll just be apart now is the only difference." And then he asked me back to the bedroom.
I've had other dreams of Steve in the last six months. Dreams where we dance around the living room like we used to, dreams of normal days and nights, dreams I can't remember upon waking but wake with a smile on my face all the same. But it's the changing nature of these nightmares that have me intrigued the most. They help show me where my head is at. Where my heart is at. I'd like to think I'm coming to a new place. A place where the fear is still here but accepting that I can continue to love him and accept his love. We'll just be apart now. And that makes all the difference.
Alarming
I keep wanting to say "I don't want to alarm anyone but..." But. There's no one to be alarmed anymore.
The amazing thing I realized at the six month mark of Steve's death is that no one is vested in me anymore. As I trudged through my day I kept an ear cocked for the sound of a ringing phone. Waiting for someone to call and reminisce with me, mourn with me, share some time with me. I know many people were thinking about Steve on the fifteenth. Thinking about what his day was like exactly six months ago. Thinking of what their day was like exactly six months ago. It's just, no one was interested in thinking about that with me.
That's when I realized no one knows the difference between my sad face, my I'm-not-making-it face and my I'm-depressed-and-not-functioning face. I have to come up for air and translate it to whoever is in front of me. After six months of explaining what I'm feeling, begging for what I need, trying to fake it until I make it for those around me - I haven't the strength anymore.
Some people called a few days earlier and some called a few days later. None of them mentioned the date to me. I doubt they think I'd forgotten. They simply don't want to sit there not knowing what to say if I start to cry. So I was left to cry alone, feeling all the more abandoned and that I have no place in this world.
It's true. I have no place in this world. I haven't created a new life for myself yet. It's difficult giving up the life I had. Too difficult to give that up and create a new one at the same time. That new life will come. I just haven't built it yet. I still can't imagine it.
At six months I thought I'd be further along. I thought I'd have done more than I have. Instead I feel like I'm slipping backwards. I'm closing off and shutting down. I miss the press of his belly into the small of my back, I miss his hand cupping my belly, I miss having someone who gives an unlimited amount of hugs that last as long as I need, I miss having someone unafraid of the messiness of life and dives into with me. I miss my husband.
The amazing thing I realized at the six month mark of Steve's death is that no one is vested in me anymore. As I trudged through my day I kept an ear cocked for the sound of a ringing phone. Waiting for someone to call and reminisce with me, mourn with me, share some time with me. I know many people were thinking about Steve on the fifteenth. Thinking about what his day was like exactly six months ago. Thinking of what their day was like exactly six months ago. It's just, no one was interested in thinking about that with me.
That's when I realized no one knows the difference between my sad face, my I'm-not-making-it face and my I'm-depressed-and-not-functioning face. I have to come up for air and translate it to whoever is in front of me. After six months of explaining what I'm feeling, begging for what I need, trying to fake it until I make it for those around me - I haven't the strength anymore.
Some people called a few days earlier and some called a few days later. None of them mentioned the date to me. I doubt they think I'd forgotten. They simply don't want to sit there not knowing what to say if I start to cry. So I was left to cry alone, feeling all the more abandoned and that I have no place in this world.
It's true. I have no place in this world. I haven't created a new life for myself yet. It's difficult giving up the life I had. Too difficult to give that up and create a new one at the same time. That new life will come. I just haven't built it yet. I still can't imagine it.
At six months I thought I'd be further along. I thought I'd have done more than I have. Instead I feel like I'm slipping backwards. I'm closing off and shutting down. I miss the press of his belly into the small of my back, I miss his hand cupping my belly, I miss having someone who gives an unlimited amount of hugs that last as long as I need, I miss having someone unafraid of the messiness of life and dives into with me. I miss my husband.
When I Call Your Name
Oh the lonely sound of my voice calling- Vince Gill
Is driving me insane
And just like rain the tears keep falling
Nobody answers when I call your name
Oh nobody answers when I call your name
Monday, January 17, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
They say it gets better. They lie.
When you get the call he died you go into shock. You've lost half of yourself. You've lost your future. Your life. He's gone and you think you know that fact. It feels like you know it when you pick out a coffin, write the obituary, greet people at his funeral. You don't know he's gone yet.
On the day you're mad with grief, crying the ugly cry - you'll reach out to those few who will stick around in your life now that he's gone. Those few people who will be there in the coming months will all be busy at the same time. Not able to answer their phone, not able to talk you down. You and he had a secret code: if you called two times in a row it was an emergency. He knew to step out of the meeting and take that call. You don't have that set-up with anyone else. And really, are they willing to put their job on the line for your crying jag? You aren't their wife. You'll think you know you're alone when that happens. You still don't know that he's gone yet.
The evening you go to a social gathering by yourself for the first time will be stressful. You think you can handle it - your plan is not to say much. It will be two hours after you snap your fingers in the face of a VP from your husband's company meaning to be funny that you'll realize you were rude. You didn't have him there to give the special look to say "I'm handing this over to you" when you felt yourself getting overwhelmed. That night in the hotel you will try and wash the embarrassment of that moment from your memory. It won't work. You don't know you're alone yet.
Everyone keeps saying how well you've been doing lately. You've been able to joke on the phone and managed to get through the holidays relatively unscathed. They've written you off as better and so don't notice you haven't picked your life back up from before the holidays. You try and tell them but you can't seem to say that you're drowning. You used to be so good with words. So you have to find the inner strength to pony up, get up, and pick that burden of this unknown life back up. But you wish, for just a moment, someone would hug you and say "I've got this; take this one off your list." It's that wish that's really hurting you. Because that wish just shows that no one is vested enough in you to notice these things anymore. You only think you know you're alone.
There are a million different ways to know he's gone and you're alone. Each one hits you in a different way and on a different level. It doesn't get better. It only gets different.
On the day you're mad with grief, crying the ugly cry - you'll reach out to those few who will stick around in your life now that he's gone. Those few people who will be there in the coming months will all be busy at the same time. Not able to answer their phone, not able to talk you down. You and he had a secret code: if you called two times in a row it was an emergency. He knew to step out of the meeting and take that call. You don't have that set-up with anyone else. And really, are they willing to put their job on the line for your crying jag? You aren't their wife. You'll think you know you're alone when that happens. You still don't know that he's gone yet.
The evening you go to a social gathering by yourself for the first time will be stressful. You think you can handle it - your plan is not to say much. It will be two hours after you snap your fingers in the face of a VP from your husband's company meaning to be funny that you'll realize you were rude. You didn't have him there to give the special look to say "I'm handing this over to you" when you felt yourself getting overwhelmed. That night in the hotel you will try and wash the embarrassment of that moment from your memory. It won't work. You don't know you're alone yet.
Everyone keeps saying how well you've been doing lately. You've been able to joke on the phone and managed to get through the holidays relatively unscathed. They've written you off as better and so don't notice you haven't picked your life back up from before the holidays. You try and tell them but you can't seem to say that you're drowning. You used to be so good with words. So you have to find the inner strength to pony up, get up, and pick that burden of this unknown life back up. But you wish, for just a moment, someone would hug you and say "I've got this; take this one off your list." It's that wish that's really hurting you. Because that wish just shows that no one is vested enough in you to notice these things anymore. You only think you know you're alone.
There are a million different ways to know he's gone and you're alone. Each one hits you in a different way and on a different level. It doesn't get better. It only gets different.
Friday, January 7, 2011
And Death Shall Have No Dominion
And death shall have no dominion.
Dead mean naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.
Dead mean naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.
- Dylan Thomas
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