I fell asleep this morning on our slightly comfortable couch after a lot of insomnia. It was the first dream I remember was end of last October.
We were living in an old apartment, it was above the first floor (but not top floor) and it was about 3 in the morning. We had a ton of people were in the apartment visiting, which in real life is extremely unusual. Several people I liked like Trisha, Kailey and some legacies/dying light people were there chatting away, it was almost the start of something like the parties we did use to host in Bellingham.
There were also several people over visiting that were maybe friends of those people, but who I didn’t have a clue about. They were kind of snotty, annoying, made themselves too much at home and would not have been invited by me, but they were with people I liked so I let it go. I need to make a clear note here though, everyone was about my current age, not actual age we were when we played dying light/legacies.
This went on for a little while when there was a singular older guy just on my last nerve. It wasn’t anything specifically, but he was kind of a whiny white guy twat who just bitched about everything. It was that weird entitlement you see in some boy gamers, along with the whole “friends’ zone” vibe he kept giving off. He should have been wearing a fedora. He kept trying to one up everyone in the stories when it was clear to everyone that he was lying about his experiences.
It was at this time that I noticed everyone kept coming in and out of my living room window from the outside. It didn’t make sense for a few moments in the dream since I knew it wasn’t street level outside.
It turns out that they were hanging on one of the rooftops around the building. We were in a similar apartment building to where I lived as a kid where there was multiple stories and roofs/ledges you could climb out on (more like a giant old mansion building where there was 1st, 2nd and 3rd story roofs scattered, depending on the location of the apartment).
On about the fourth time they are climbing back into the apartment I realized I had neighbors and I told them to get their ass in the apartment and off the roof, and to keep their voices down since the clock said it was 3am. There were murmurs of people not happy with that decision, but I didn’t care.
That older whiny guy whined some more for several minutes, and I sort of lost my shit, I told him to get the fuck out of my apartment, it was my place and I didn’t know him from jack anyways so he could go pound sand. He was really tugging at my last nerve and funny enough I didn’t feel bad about saying it after it was out of my mouth (I normally do feel bad even if they deserved it).
He sort of threw a hissy fit and started to act like I couldn’t do that while his friends were here, that was until I got closer to him and instead of getting more physically aggressive as would be my normal mode up to a few months ago, I pulled out my phone and said I was calling the cops if he didn’t get the fuck out of my house. Not sure what brought this change in tactics for me, I don’t recall being any shorter, but maybe I was skinnier like I am now and didn’t have the bulk.
Then everyone started packing up, I wasn’t sure if it was one of those things were, they all had caravanned in so had to go if he went or what, but I didn’t really care. However, asshole kept taking forever to leave my apartment. I stood up and told him he has 10 seconds and started counting down. I pulled out my phone and started dialing, this is when he still bitched but headed out with everything else without too much of a struggle after that.
A little relieved I watched as everyone left. I then turn down the stairs to the bottom floor and on the second set of stairs I see coming up are another large group of people, talking loud, and I dreaded they were heading for my place. The only one coming up that I didn’t dread was my mom in a wheel chair at the front of the group. I was caught off guard because I think I was half awake and realized she was dead and shouldn’t be there.
That is when I woke up disorientated on the couch with the hubby asking about the socks (ok I think he asked after I woke up, but it is all discombobulated).
There was a large group of us at this older house. It was some people I knew, some I didn’t. It wasn’t a full party, there was a little drinking but nothing big. As a group we all talked, laughed and things went well enough.
The group decided to go to a new house, and they all went out the back door to go over there. I found myself at that time unable to follow them easily, I was at the front of the house (outside) and found myself in crutches with a broken foot. I am sure was reminiscent of last October.
I struggled outside trying to go around the house with a hill with weird steps that had appeared. I eventually got up and over and to the neighbor’s house with a lot of swearing. Once I got there the party had become more serious, a lot of people were drunk or high.
I looked over and saw my mom laying on the floor. At first I thought she had fallen (she was older in the dream) and I ran over to check on her. She was making absolutely no sense. I asked her a few questions and realized she was high as fuck.
Even as I stood over here, yelling at her so she could hear me and pay attention she could only half look at me and tell me its all ok.. while using my brother’s name for me. She was on a huge nod from getting high.
I was so angry, the kind of angry I have been at my parents for getting drunk when I was young. A couple of the others around me quieted down and got serious (I think they noticed my mood had changed) as I rifled through mom’s pockets.
I pulled out a series of fancy labeled vials (it looked professional packing, like you bought it from a store) and kept asking her where she got it. A couple of people nodded to me, they knew the answer and I put the vials in my pocket. She was trying to talk to me, while she was as high as fuck, and I just patted her and told her don’t worry I would find them as I got up and was getting ready to kill something.
I woke up so angry and hurt from this dream. While I am sure the dream came from the homeless guy I gave a buck to yesterday outside Target. He was on a nod with a sign. He needed money though, so I don’t regret it, although I didn’t anticipate this as a result. The weird part is my parents never did heroin, or anything that puts a person on a nod. It was alcohol, with pot and sometimes coke or acid.
Even now I am hurt, angry and missing my mom at the same time. With both parents passing away a couple of years ago I haven’t really dealt with it much. Too much work issues, husband’s transition surgeries and finally I just wasn’t ready. There was too much other stuff in my head to deal.
The anger and hurt reminded me a lot of when I was a teenager, how angry I was when my parents would drink. I was angry all the time and I think that was probably why I was like I was. I suspect all the things are going to start coming to the surface, especially since I never have truly dealt with my parents drug use and alcoholism and how it impacted our family.
I don’t know if its because my headspace is changing with my transition to female, the hormones, or just exhaustion (probably a combination of all three). It has become a lot harder to shove my feelings inside me, and I haven’t figured out the best way to handle how difficult they are to bury.
I guess that will be part of this journey, and sadly I suspect this won’t be the last dream of this kind either.
Here I am up at 1:30am thinking about Greeting Cards.
Lately I have been working on a project to scan all of our hardcopy photos and then getting storage containers to hold the photos themselves. The old photo albums are falling apart and are destroying the photos. This was spurred on by receiving my parents photos after their passing last year.
It was tough to scan old family photos, I won’t deny that at all. A lot of emotional baggage came up, especially since I haven’t dealt with their passing. Wolsey says it has set me off into a depression. While I want to say that isn’t true, I am not looking from the outside so maybe it is.
I had finished the scanning of hardcopy photos (I still have hundreds of negatives, but those I have in one storage book so they can be done as I go) so I switched to combining and setting up storage for greeting cards.
Greeting cards are always a weird thing for me. They have always held a weird place in my family, compared to other families I have known. No matter what was happening each event, my parents would get us a card with a handwritten message inside them for each birthday, anniversary, promotion, holiday or end of quarter (and a dozen other special holidays). No matter how poor they were at the time. There would always be in quotation marks the last two digits of the year as well.
Wolsey and I would always smile, thank them and get home joking about the cards. No one else I know of received cards on this level (a lot of times with flowers) for even random small events in our life. I have some cards from other family members, but our receiving them varied on if they were mad at us, if we had drifted away in talking, whereas my parents would have one every event, no matter what.
Yesterday I got my greeting cards storage box and went through the cards. I was surprised it was the hardest thing I have done. It was harder then going through the photos, harder then going through the remnants of their personal belongings in storage, harder then anything except maybe the letters my dad would sometimes write.
It was a quick process, and all the more sadder because it was quick. I had over the years kept most of the stuff they gave us, but we have moved so often, downsized and in general would lose some of them. Now I can see the holes in the different holidays because the cards are missing and it makes me sad. There were important events to Wolsey and I, that I realized the only people that commented/congratulated/consoled us were my parents. I think that is probably the worst part of it, knowing those will be the last cards I will receive from them.
I am glad though that something as small and eccentric like that was a habit they had. It reminds me how much they did care about the little things that happened with us. In that light, I am very fortunate to have the cards, and to have parents that cared about me and my husband so much.
I woke up a little confused this morning, dreams of my mom and dad. Then when I sat down I realized she had passed away a year ago today, on their 46th wedding anniversary (today would be their 47th anniversary). Of course it happened that way, my parents loved each other too much to go long without seeing one another. My mom liked holidays so this seems perfectly in her style to pick one of her favorite holidays to pass.
She didn’t do well after my dad passed away in February of 2016. She was lonely a lot, and I couldn’t be with her daily (but at least weekly I was). I did call her multiple times a day, every day and she seemed buoyed by it. Then my brother stayed with her. She tried hard to keep things going, but in the end her body couldn’t hold up to her grief.
Although she was incredibly brave, and remarkably at peace as things failed her. She didn’t want to be here anymore. As her heart was giving out, we talked with her and she went into hospice. By this time we were driving up daily to see her. So many things happened I will talk about later. I remember her asking me for the days in hospice what day it was. She wanted to make it so badly to their anniversary. It was important to her.
I kept telling her it wasn’t “today” yet. Eventually that day did come, no matter how much I wished it wouldn’t. Their anniversary arrived quietly on a hot summer day, and as we went up to see her in the hospice house I knew it would be for the last time.
We arrived there, met with family, drama and a desire that I could whisk her away somewhere she could get true peace. We sat with her for hours, she was slowly fading, but would occasionally stir and say something garbled.
I was holding her hand most of the day, she was less responsive then the previous days. I leaned over and whispered to her that it was ok, today was her anniversary she had been waiting for and it was ok to go. She was mostly unconscious but she still squeezed my hand.
We stayed a few more hours, and I thought I had been wrong. Not more than 30 minutes later, while we were still driving through Mount Vernon on our way home, I got a call from my sister. She had passed away. I was numb for the rest of the car ride, but that will be talked about in a future post (along with everything else that happened around her passing).
I love you mom. I still miss you and I hope you are in a better place. Even with all the issues our family had, I am grateful you were my mother. I know you loved all of us deeply.
It is funny, I still remember you more towards the way you looked in the 1970s.
Oh, and my mom was a stickler about holidays, ALL OF THE HOLIDAYS, so I know she expects me to wish her and my dad a happy anniversary, 47 years ago today. So HAPPY 47th ANNIVERSARY MOM AND DAD!
I love you, just wanted you to know that we love you, and we miss you and dad.
I don’t really have a witty title for this dream, I wouldn’t call it a nightmare really, or even a bad dream, but it did wake me up and I needed to write it here. Because I only woke up three or four minutes ago, please forgive the grammar/spelling issues.
I was sitting in a living room, sort of similar to my mom’s parents old house. I have very little memories of the house, but it seemed to fit. The room was bathed in a morning light, bright, but diffuse with the curtains, sort of a golden yellowish light.
I looked around the room and there were packages everywhere, getting ready to be delivered. I noticed a very large package sitting in the chair. I never really saw the outside edges of the package because I noticed the package had a hole at the top front.
I could make out a person inside. Part of me knew exactly what I was looking at, even if in that horrible dreamlike state it still moved forward with a “reveal”.
Looking back at me was an older woman, although not quite as old as I remember, the last five months of her life without my dad had aged her. Her skin had a waxy complexion, with what appeared to be warbles. It looked like her body had been through a rough time after she had been embalmed. The reason I thought she was embalmed was the same waxy look my grandparents had when they were buried.
A side note, my mom wasn’t embalmed, both my dad and mom wanted no embalming at all, so I knew even in the dream that it must be a dream, at least part of me did.
Her eyes are what caught me. They were different, damaged, or else changed in a way that I couldn’t tell. I want to say they were golden, almost cat-like in color but with my colorblindness that may not even be what they were. Her eyes would have been a focal point in filming her if it was a monster movie, slowing panning across them. As I was looking at her eyes, trying to figure out what was going on, they shifted and looked back at me.
The dream stuttered for a moment, and then there I was same place, with my mom sitting in the chair (the packaging was gone). Everything else was the same. She had the same complexion, the same weird goldenish eyes that didn’t look right. Her hair looked like it had been dyed sometime recently, it had that straw-like crackle to it, but it wasn’t grey.
We were talking as if we meant to see each other. She was asking me how I was doing, how the hubby was doing, and what had happened after she was gone. It was a very nonchalant conversation.
I then apologized for her eyes and told her I had them donated when she passed, and while they found they couldn’t use them for a cornea transplant, they could use it for research (this is indeed what happened). It dawned on me that is what was wrong with her eyes, the corneas had been removed.
I told her that it is almost a year since she had passed (July 2016). She was reassuring, even with those eyes staring at me. She seemed pleased I had tried. We continued to talk, but the dream was fading. I knew she loved us, and she knew we loved her..
I woke up, hubby woke up a bit too and I told him a little bit about the dream. He reassured me and I told him to go back to sleep, he needed it. He has a lot of recovering to do. Finally he fell back asleep.
Even as I was in the dream, I knew this dream is more of me dealing with the hubby’s surgery, especially since this is the first major thing I have had to work through (his surgery) without having them still here to talk to me and reassure me that things were going to be ok (well, their deaths was the first time actually, but that doesn’t count).
So I wrote it up here in the dark hotel room, listening to my husband beside me snore and the random HGTV show on the TV.
I am just sitting here missing my mom.
Over the last couple of weeks my anxiety has been kicked up to an 11 due to Wolsey’s surgery, work and just a lot of stuff in my head. Last night I took some meds to go to sleep and ended up having dreams I mostly remember.
The first dream is we were in a house, a real place (sort of in the dream) that I lived at as a child. It mostly consisted of my dad talking to us, giving us shit. We were talking about a girl named Brie Larson who my dad had a fling with in the house (the reality is there was a drunken one night thing in the place I don’t think the girl was named Brie though). My dad was being huge and giving us shit about the place.
For some reason I turned around annoyed when he brought up the place and I said “Well, this is the place where you died too” and everything stopped. It wasn’t of course, he died in a place 30 years later. He just looked at me and I realized he was gone in the real world. He just gave me a small smile and said he loved me.
I woke up and found it was about 1am. I didn’t want to get up and I must have fallen asleep fairly soon after.
The second dream was more intense and longer, but I remember less of it as I am sitting here. I remember it was a hospital and there were many people there. My mom was in the hospital again to get surgery on her heart. In the real world I think I did this with her four times before she had the final problems she died from eventually.
We waited for her to come out and several others that went in for surgery around the same time she did had passed away. there was a lot of stress about her results. After some drama with the nurses and with my sister (which is too close to what happened in real life with my father) I was freaking out. Finally they brought her back out and she was ok. All I could focus on though was how thin her skin felt when I was hugging her. Thats when I woke up.
So there it is, the depressing dreams of the day :).
Normally the holidays are a bit stressful from me. Usually my parents would be behind a rock and a hard place cash wise. I would have screaming nephews and nieces who need presents and my siblings are doing whatever they are doing. This doesn’t even include the hubby and I’s personal holiday celebrations. So stress during the holidays was normal (along with a huge cash hit).
Fast forward to this year and I found that it has been stressful last couple of weeks. My sleep pattern has shifted negatively (common during this time of year), and I know I have been raw emotionally in reacting to people. However it is different then previous years.
Today we went shopping for Thanksgiving for the first time after my parents passing. It’s funny I will go for a bit of time without thinking about them now, but the shopping for Thanksgiving specifically brings back the awkward holidays. Fortunately the drinking ended years ago, but there was always a need for us to spend about $100 extra to feed the rest of the family. I didn’t begrudge my parents, but the rest of the family was a little harder.
Combine this with the last minute requests from my mom was definitely always a stressful time in the holidays. Don’t take it as something I hated, I loved holidays with my parents, even if we constantly threatened we weren’t going to do it the next year. Last year we followed through on our threat and did something different. We had catered thanksgiving with just the hubby, myself and both parents and it was fantastic. Even dad said it was probably the best thanksgiving in a decade. Funny enough, it was also cheaper to cater it for four people than to provide just our portion of the overall homemade Thanksgiving dinner.
The hubby and I have always talked about what it would be like when the holidays were ours. It was always a far off thing, and even at the start of this year we assumed at least another four or five years before things happened. Well that wasn’t how it progressed at and with both parents gone in six months we went from full family to a hard off. We have no intention on meeting with siblings and extended family (the deaths of both parents, but especially dad really tore some holes in those relationships).
The idea of just staying home, enjoying the hubby’s food (and my baking of course) and just watching tv/playing video games was so entrancing. Especially during those years when we did both families and the nightmare of hubby’s parents then to my parents.
So we were wandering around Winco shopping and I was struck with a weird sense of anxiety mixed with sadness. For the first time in a month I had stepped into the grocery store and pulled out my phone automatically as if I was going to call my parents and ask them what they needed for thanksgiving. I caught myself and went back to wandering the aisles with the hubby.
We wandered through the place, picked up a whole lot of groceries for thanksgiving. I wasn’t necessarily sad, just more nostalgic that I wasn’t picking up stuff for our old trip to Bellingham. We got to the cash register and it was almost $100 cheaper than we normally expect for holidays.
So we came away from Winco and I feel a little bad. I miss my parents and I assume my anxiety will get worse before it gets better. But I am really looking forward to just spending time with the hubby as well.
Saw my dad yesterday, he is in the final stages of hospice, but he is at home in bed and comfortable. He will pass anytime now, but we got to say our goodbyes, hug, and he talked back to me. I probably will post specifically about that later, it was important, but don’t have the words. I am going back up there regularly, and especially after he passes I will need to help make arrangements and help my mother.