Sponsor me in the 2005 MS Walk! Why? Read here.
Today�s a tough day.
First off, I have a headache that is threatening to become something bigger, dancing around the edge of migraine territory. Damn hormones. They are not my friends.
Then, there�s my mom. She�s been experiencing this odd, sick feeling when she gets hungry, and has complained that things she eats are getting �stuck� in her throat. So she called her doctor yesterday and he made an appointment for her to have a gastroscopy. Today.
She went to work this morning, then her friend Gail drove her to the hospital in time for the procedure and brought her home once they released her. Apparently, she had a stricture in her esophagus, and the doctor had to widen it. She seemed rather unphased by this, sitting at home now and watching the Patriots on TV, but I have to say, the whole process freaked me out a little bit. She needs to stay out of the hospital for personal health reasons for the foreseeable future, as far as I�m concerned.
And, of course, there�s David. Or the lack of David. Some days are better than others, and today has been especially difficult.
Last night, Mom told me that she had a dream about David. She was in the living room of her house, eating grilled cheese sandwiches. She got up and went into the kitchen and found David standing there. She was thrilled to see him and went over to him. He hugged her, then put his hands on her face and said, "I am SO sorry about the wedding, Marie. But I want you to know that I love you very, very much." They stood in the kitchen together for a few minutes. Then she woke up.
She didn�t immediately understand him. Her first thought was that he was telling her he was sorry he�d married her, but then as she thought some more, she realized he meant MY wedding.
I had a dream not long after Melissa was murdered in which she came to see me, and we talked, and she told me she was okay. I believe wholeheartedly that Melissa really came to see me in my dream. Not that I dreamed about Melissa, but that Melissa was there. And when I woke up, I felt better. She had come to soothe my soul, and it worked.
My mom believes, too, that David was in her dream, that he came to see her. She doesn�t feel comforted, though. She woke up feeling cheated all over again. Losing him once wasn�t enough, she had to do it again in waking up.
David�s sister, who is a big believer in things wholistic and supernatural, went to see her spiritual advisor, who told her that David was angry, that his soul was not at rest, that he didn�t want to go anywhere, that he felt he had more to do here with us. Nothing personal, lady, but I didn�t need to pay any �spiritual advisor� big dollars to figure that stuff out. It doesn�t feel like rocket science.
This all makes me sad on several different levels. I�m sad that if he�d come back to see my mom, his biggest regret, the one he�d choose to speak on, would be the wedding. It�s just a day. And although it breaks my heart that he won�t be there, and I think it�s horribly, horribly unfair that I�ll be walking down the aisle without him by my side, that day isn�t what I feel worst about.
Aside from that, though, I hate the thought of David being angry, of unrest, of his being unable to let go of his life.
I don�t know what I believe about where we go when we die. Part of me does believe in some sort of heavenly concept. I realized after my dad died (and I mean my biological father this time) that I believed he was still somehow aware of my life. I still have conversations with him, with my grandparents and now with David, too. And yes, I do believe they hear me. And yes, sometimes, I get answers from them. Not verbal ones. I haven�t just gone over the edge. But I do �hear� from them.
When my grandmother died, I brought home three of her plants, all African Violets. One of them died�a strange, mysterious death that made me believe the plant simply missed her and didn�t want to be owned by anyone else. The other two, though, have done very well, and are thriving. As I tend to the plants, I talk to my grandmother.
The week David died, one of them bloomed for the first time (possibly ever, but at least in my custody), three purple flowers, right in the middle of the plant. I fully believe that�s my grandmother answering me.
But�to be stuck in an afterlife and be unhappy? Angry? Unsettled? I can�t think of anything worse, and I hate that Peggy told us that.
It would be easier to stop hurting quite so much if I could get past thinking that way.
Of course, I say that only because I do think that way. I�m not sure anything would make it easier.
Perhaps it�s the hormones. I�m feeling awfully weepy.
I just can�t get past the unfairness of it all.
And today I�m dwelling on it, and nothing (not even this monster headache) can seem to displace it out of my head.
I want to go home. I want to fall asleep. And then I want to wake up and discover that the past three weeks have just been a dream, and that David is fine, and the gym is open, and none of this has happened.
I do not want to be hugged. I don�t want people to tell me it will get better, that it just takes time.
Fuck that.
I don�t want to get better. I want to get back.
Can someone make that happen? No? Then there�s nothing you can do for me.
Though I appreciate the effort.
---------------------------------------------
Something to say about this entry?
Add your comments here (0 people have spoken already)
< Of Mice and Mom | End of the quiz and more David rambling >
