Tag Archives: sleep

Dream within a Dream

Someone just sat on the edge of my bed. I know this because I can feel the depression of the mattress but I don’t know who it could be considering I am alone. I am paralyzed by fear and afraid to open my eyes because I just know it is a ghost—a friendly ghost, like Casper I hope. But I am also incapable of moving my limbs as if I am pinned down and I have a sense of helplessness. This is so vivid that it almost seems real, but it is a dream—a dream that I want desperately to wake up from.

Then, as if by magic I am awake and not afraid at all. I am with a friend, telling her of my harrowing experience with the supernatural being in my house. But this is different—somehow I innately know that I am actually still dreaming, although in this dream, the fear is gone and I feel serene.

Suddenly I am aware of a newfound power where I can control the course and temperament of my dream and I can have anything I want in this alternate reality. What a freeing feeling I have, for in this dream, I get to have do-overs—my son is mentally healthy, I am happily married, and I am young again. I can fly if I want, why not, this is my dream—in my new world anything is possible. I have no more money issues. I am enjoying the best day of my life and I can summon up friends and loved ones who have passed over. I am outside in a beautiful field taking pictures that automatically transform into gorgeous images right in front of me. I am having the best food and sex ever and know this is the way it will remain. I am joyous and free, oh yes, I am happy for once.

But then the theme of the dream dramatically changes, as if something ominous and vile is inserting itself into my perfect dream. The dream is gradually becoming dark again, and I am hearing thunder in the distance. My brain desperately wants me to continue dreaming but it is no use—the booming thunderclaps become louder and louder, making it impossible to maintain my sleep. Just like that, in the blink of an eye, I am thrust into total consciousness. I lay there, realizing that I am now awake, seeing the lit up room from the lightning bolts. It is morning and I reluctantly get out of bed with a heavy heart. The depression is palpable because this time I know for sure, I am back in the real world and my lovely dream is over. I desperately want to return to the utopia of my subconscious—maybe I can go back tonight, but I know it is gone and reality is back.

Jane – A tribute

Dear Jane,

It is Friday night and I keep thinking I’m going to pick up the phone and give you a call. You are one of the only people who understand about my son’s difficulties because you have been through it too. You are my go-to person for life’s injustices, life’s tragedies, life’s funny moments and I can talk to you about anything on earth and you to me. I’ve been there through all your hospitalizations, through your difficulties with your family, and you have been there for me in kind. Yesterday I pulled out my old wedding album so I could remember you as the maid of honor, happy, young, and vibrant. It is so hard to wrap my mind around the fact that I will not see you again, except in Heaven, God willing.

We were good friends when we were teens up until our thirties but, as life took us in different directions, we somehow lost contact. We reconnected and again lost contact—this time I was sure our friendship had run it’s course. But one day, out of the blue, you called me and as if no time had passed at all, our bond was still strong and became stronger in the years that followed. I have shared so much of my travails about my child, my inexplicable crippling illness and subsequent recovery upon discovery of the cause (a benign spinal tumor), my ups and downs with my son, and everything in between. Sometimes I would call you and we’d have a marathon talking session about everything, including movies, Stuyvesant Town, old shows, friends, medical issues, family, politics—-you name it, we talked about it. You have been one of my greatest support systems and I feel that I filled that role for you too. I honestly don’t know what I am going to do without you.

To say I was shocked to learn of you passing was the understatement of the year. The last time I spoke with you, you said, “Call me anytime.” So, last Friday night I called to get my weekly dose of love, friendship, laughter, and wisdom from you. When you didn’t pick up I left a message. Three days later I called again, and again, and again, for days and days. At first I was annoyed, then I thought that maybe you were in the hospital again, although you had been doing very well lately. Everything seemed under control with your MS, which was in remission, and your diabetes, which didn’t seem to be an issue. I had no reason to believe that a tragedy had occurred. In my heart of hearts I was frightened and would not even entertain the idea that you had passed away. It was unfathomable to me so I dismissed it for days. But, yesterday something told me to call your brother’s number, which you had given me a few years back just in case. When I spoke with your sister in law, and she said, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Jane passed away”, it felt like there was an explosion in my chest, and a punch to my gut—then the tears and disbelief came.

Jane, you had a very hard life, and a lonely existence up in Lockport, with no real support system. But you became a strong advocate for yourself and still managed to accept some of the seemingly unfair blows life dealt you with characteristic grace and dignity. About a year ago you said you were sitting on the couch watching TV when you saw your mom in the dining area. I asked if you were asleep and you said, “No, that was her.” I asked if you were scared at all and you said, “No.” I believe that your mom appeared to let you know you were loved and she was waiting for you to come over soon. I do not know the exact cause of your demise, but I suspect that it was peaceful, in your sleep. Although I am grieving this loss, I am happy for you at the same time, because at long last you are loved in a way you were not in this physical life. You are, as I write this, in God’s loving arms and with your mom. Your body is healed from your MS and you have no more physical or emotional pain—nobody can hurt you now. You are walking, running and laughing freely and finally at peace. I know you are looking down on me now and thinking of all we shared and how we could sometimes find humor in the strangest places. I prayed to God last night that you appear in my dreams to let me know you are indeed OK. But, I somehow know that you are. Sweet dreams in eternity. You will never be forgotten. Godspeed. Call me anytime!

Love Marilyn