From Dreams to Darkness

 

Dream PNGs by Vecteezy

Dear Grandma,

You always knew that I was a quiet child.

You always knew I was a creative child.

I was in my head a lot. Gathering information. Gathering inspiration. You probably thought it was primarily from books.

Yet, I've always been an avid dreamer. A vivid dreamer. I always saw things in color, never in black and white.

Don't care what others may say or surmise.

I know what I know.

Every once in a blue moon, I would have recurring dreams. In this sense, dreams is putting it loosely. Because some felt terrifying (like never being able to stop falling) while others felt confusing.

The recurring dream that left me most balled was the one seeing a casket or the lowering of a casket into the ground. I would never think much of it until sometime later when it was announce that someone I'd been thinking about or talked about recently, had passed on.

I know you are not a big believer in anything remotely related to psychic phenomena. I will say that the frequency in which the dream occurred would be difficult to dismiss as mere coincidence.

After I was finally able to see you and wish you a happy birthday in December, that dream started returning. It became more frequent. The dream was different because there was a black veil/curtain shielding the scene, and initially, I didn't know why.

When I got the call, I figured it out.

That's when I knew your time was close.

Once you were lowered into the ground, one other event happened too. I, a person who has had dreams way more often than not, closed my eyes only to experience the dark.

Initially, I welcomed this.

It was part of everything crashing down, I surmised.

I haven't been able to dream since then.

It's as if a dense fog has set in my mind.

There are moments if I question if I want to start the day. I take a few seconds contemplating movement.

I know, writing this down, the non-dreaming may be a small thing. Since I am a person accustomed to dreaming (recurring or not) on a nightly basis, it makes me feel disconnected. As if something is not right.

Now, the darkness I once welcomed, I feel consumed by.

Now, I'm looking for light to find my way.

Grandma, I know you don't possess the answer, but I feel like an observer in my own life. 

As if I'm looking at a version of myself interacting with others.

As if I took a break and let a variant take its place.

Yet I'm not sure if this is exactly where I need to be (as my therapist would say) ... discombobulated and empty.

Newness does not give me an inkling of spark at this juncture. I cling to the familiar with the Jaws of Life, even if that familiar doesn't move me.

Should I move out of this limbo? Or is this limbo where I need to be?

Or deciding whether "being apathetic is best" is part of the problem?

What does one do when being uplifting seems to be too much of a lift ... to the point where I just want to sit it down and not even deal with it?

I am at this crossroads. I want to fight, yet the little fight I do have I want to preserve.

Perhaps it'll get figured out someday.

Just not today.

When Pain Feels All Encompassing

 

Please note: This is not the pad in question but it is similar.

Dear Grandma,

Yesterday felt as if I'd physically lost you all over again.

Do you remember the heating pad that you had in the house?

Yeah, the one that had the worn yellow cover.

I said "had" because my best friend had replaced it and put a new cover on it because it had gotten so worn out.

It has traveled many places with me and still works, even though the lowest setting still feels warmer than most.

Yesterday was a bad day ... in terms of scales of pain.

The Red visitor was late again. It is to expected since I'm perimenopausal, but it's happening more and more frequently. I haven't been bleeding as heavy but the symptoms that come along with it have amplified significantly, particularly the cramps.

I had a partially bedridden day. I didn't trust myself to drive in to work.

Normally, I would try to push through but it wouldn't have been a smart idea. However, I was out of my muscle relaxers.

Plus, since I had restarted taking the blood thinner medication (not the full dose but partially), that limited what I could take for pain and what I couldn't.

I decided that it would be best for me to try some heat therapy.

At first, I thought that my best friend had the heating pad. She had gotten more use of it over the years than I had, since her pain manifests more physically than mine does.

When she claimed she didn't have it, I admit, I wasn't sure if I believed her. Not because I thought she was lying but because there have been moments when she has said "I don't have it" or "I don't see it" only for me to discover it or that she didn't look before telling me.

I looked to see if I had packed it in the duffel bag or one of my suitcases.

Then, I looked in the chest of drawers.

Still I didn't see it anywhere.

I asked if she was certain she hadn't seen it, but sure enough, she didn't have it.

My mind went on a tangent. Could it have accidentally have been thrown away?

I didn't want to entertain that thought.

Yet, the longer I looked around, and did not see the familiar greenish/yellow cord with the white, black, and orange buttons control panel attached, the more prevalent the possibility.

There's no eloquent way to say this.

I fell apart.

I screamed.

The pain of my irregular cycle dulled in comparison to what I felt, in that moment, where I believed that heating pad was gone.

My best friend did her best to console me but for quite a few minutes, I was inconsolable. She looked in the places I already checked, but it wasn't there.

Feeling unsure what to do, I walked out to the living room and stared at your image on the funeral program. I asked you where it could be.

I wouldn't have thrown it away. Because for the heating pad not to be in the house didn't make sense.

You urged me to check my work bookbag. That confused me ... like, why would it be in there?

I was skeptical, but I checked anyway.

To my disbelief and relief, there it was. I just held it close to me, rocked back and forth, and cried all over again.

Yes, I could have purchased a new one. The point was that it was yours. That in the absence of medication, that heating pad gave me relief. It has more meaning now that you're physically absent.

Now I keep the pad near my nightstand, so it can be in reach whenever it's needed. Whether to actually ease physical pain or to provide extra comfort when I'm emotionally low.

This roller coaster ... from numbness to anguish ... I pray it gets easier.

Love you.