Life and Death. Are we living, or dying?

Are we living…or are we dying?  That’s what I’m struggling with today.  I suppose it depends on whether you are a pessimist or an optimist as to how you would answer that question.  I’m sure I’m not the only person who’s thought about this.  I don’t know if I’ll ever be convinced that we were ‘created’.  I wasn’t here when time began.  The guy that tries to school me wasn’t here either.  Life’s a mystery, that’s for sure. 

I would love to see a sleep analyst some day to find out why I have some of these crazy dreams.  If you ask me, it’s just my constantly overactive mind.  I think I know where my son’s ADHD diagnosis came from.  Sorry, kid.  It’s not all bad.  We’re the creative ones.  Full of energy, thoughts, words and ideas, we make life interesting.  We’re not afraid to be silly or loud.  We love to make people laugh and just as easily, our hearts can be shattered in an instant.  We wear our hearts on our sleeves and love to love and be loved.  I believe the world would be a better place if more of us had ADHD.  But that’s just my opinion.

My dreams are usually irrational.  Colors are always more vibrant than in real life.  Objects are bigger and better than I could imagine and time seems to go forward and back at my will.  Everyone is happy, healthy and wise.  Most importantly, I am usually happy…or seem to be, in my dreams.  Occasionally I’ll have one of those scared witless dreams, falling off cliffs, being chased by bad guys, losing my children.  Those suck.  I dream of lost loved ones but they’re usually pretty happy in my dreams too.  I’m sure my psyche wants me to know they’re happier where they are. Although, it is little strange that I can’t ever see my mother’s face or hear my father’s voice in my dreams.  Those dreams are both good and bad.  I’ve had a couple recurring dreams.  The scariest, by far, was the one where my cousin and I were abducted and trapped in an old house.  Every time I’d have that dream we appeared older and older.  Each time, we’d get closer to escaping from this house until one day, the dreams just stopped.  I had lost touch with her so maybe that had something to do with the dreams stopping.  I don’t know.  But the worst part was the day I drove by a house that looked identical to the house in my dreams.  I’d never driven down that road before so you can imagine the fear and disbelief when I laid eyes on it.  Creepy.  The last several years of my life have been filled with trials and tribulations that I’m sure contribute to the dreams I’ve had as of late.  This week was a definite life changer.  I do believe our dreams influence us as much as our lives influence our dreams.  I’m somewhat superstitious.  Some people reading this probably got a chuckle out of that one.  Ok, I’m really superstitious.  Like, crazy superstitious.  I might need…therapy.  All I know is this dream was one for the record books.  And I don’t think it had anything to do with that monster spider my brave husband killed for me over the weekend. 

Do you ever have those dreams where after you wake up it takes you a while to convince yourself that it was just a dream?  Yeah, it was one of those.  I dreamt that I was dying.  I knew I was dying, I knew what I was dying from, and I knew that there was nothing I could do to save myself.  It was the end of the road and I was being given the opportunity to say my goodbyes as past loved ones I’d lost looked on.  This was the first time in 27 years that I dreamt of my mother and actually saw her face.  This was the first time since my father passed last year that I saw him as the young, strong, healthy, happy man he used to be.  There were people in this dream that I haven’t seen since I was a kid.  I recognized everyone…even people I don’t recall in my conscious mind.  There were no words.  No one spoke.  There was only the sound of water splashing on to a shore and wind blowing through trees.  It was both calming and disturbing at the same time.  I don’t think I actually died in the dream, though I don’t remember now. I woke around 3:30 a.m. to my smallish, hairy child, Max, pouncing on me to signal a needed potty break.  As I sat up I felt myself trembling, like a frightened child.  I wasn’t quite awake and my entire body was weak as if I might actually still be dreaming.  I made it to the door and back to my bed without mishap but couldn’t kick the trembling feeling I had.  I didn’t want to wake my husband but I couldn’t fall back to sleep.  The thoughts that were racing through my head were so loud I almost broke down in tears.  Max cuddled up to me, which was somewhat comforting. The alarm clock was harping on me before I knew it and it was time to get ready for the day.  My stomach was turning all morning while I fought the urge to tell my husband about my dream.  It wouldn’t affect him the way it did me, and I didn’t want him to worry about me all day so I resisted the urge.  He already worries about dying, young. I didn’t want to be responsible for a bad day for both of us.  All day I had thought about this stupid dream.  I thought the haunting feeling would subside.  I sat in the cold and rain for over 2 hours while my little guy played ball.  About 4 pitches into the 3^rd inning, I realized I was sitting with the opposing teams’ family. I was so distracted I wasn’t even paying attention when I was setting up my chair under the only tree that could possible keep me somewhat dry.  I managed to get most of the cold out of my bones by 10:00 p.m. or so.  And I actually made it through the night, only having to let Max out once.  No dreams, no nightmares.  Just sleep.  As I was making a pot of coffee and getting lunches made…the fear returned.  I stood there, at the kitchen sink, near tears.  Why do I feel this way?  I am scared to death, to die.  For 35.6 years I thought I was living.  At that moment, at the sink….I realized I was dying.  Every silent moment is a lost conversation.  Every step contributes to the aches and pains I’m sure to suffer as I inch closer to the grave.  Every angry word is one less moment I have to tell my loved ones how I really feel.  I feel at this very moment like I’ve wasted years worrying about things I cannot change, complaining about things I don’t even need and not spending enough time being grateful for the things I do have.  I can’t get those years back.  And no matter what I do from this point on, I’m going to die.  Someone, some day, will be standing over my grave crying.  The same way I cry when I stand at my mother’s grave or my father’s ashes.  Someone is going to miss me.  Someone is going to wish they could have told me something that the never got the chance to say.  Someone is going to wish they had spent more time with me.  I hope that someone, a lot of someone’s, will remember the good things I possess.  I hope that I can do something with what is left of my life that will make an impact on the ones I love.  I want them to remember me for who I really am and not from what I’ve done.  I hope beyond hope that this feeling of regret and lack of control of my life disappears soon so that I can start living again.  I don’t want to die.  I want to live.  I want to live as if I’m dying.  And I never, ever want to have another dream like that, again.