I'm crying less and less each day now. Good memories with my mother from the past fill my head more often than the bad that took place during her final days. Like always, I still have my moments when my eyes begin to well up and sting from trying to hold back the tears. It's probably better to let them flow; a natural part of the grief process, I suppose.
This is my first time. The first time I have ever lost a a loved one so close to me. The first time I have to go on afterward. I take my steps. I put one foot in front of the other, but I don't profess to know what I am doing. There is no manual to teach me how to get through this stage in life. Sure, there are hundreds of books on death and dying. On, 'Learning to Live with Grief.' Grieving is so personal and different for each of us. Would reading a book help me? Can anyone recommend a good one? The one that would be best for me?
I do believe I'm doing better and improving each and every day. still, I dream about my mother nearly every night. Is this normal? I don't have one dream during the darkness of slumber. I have many. Typically, I don't remember any of them upon awakening. For the most part my dreams leave me feeling well. Not rested necessarily, but comforted. There is one exception to this. A dream that never leaves me.
Shortly after my mother's death, perhaps just a day or two upon my return home from Arizona, I awoke in a heated sweat from a dream. Not a dream, really. It was more of a nightmare. A nightmare that I don't understand and one that I can't seem to forget. Like a movie trailer from a horror film, it haunts me still.
In my 'nightmare' I was completely aware that Mother had passed away. The setting took place in Arizona. In my parent's house. I was still there with my father. Suddenly Mom was alive again: looking precisely like she did before her demise. Mother had just taken a breathing treatment in her bedroom. It was a painful struggle for her: horrible to see. Even after it was over, no matter how hard she tried, she still could not breathe. My father climbed onto their bed behind her like he always did, rubbing her back futilely; trying to help her win the battle.
"Help me, Kim," she said, barely audible. I stood there, rigid. There was nothing I could do to help her. Nothing. My father continued rubbing her back, tears streaming down his face. Her desperate voice repeating itself over and over. "Help me, Kim."
Analyzing the above (which I continue to do), I know that much of this nightmare is a repetition of my mother's last evening upon this earth. What obsesses me is the meaning of such. Did I do enough to help my mother during her last remaining hours of life? Obviously not. I was helpless in my efforts to do more for her. Is this nightmare trying to tell me that my mother is not at rest in heaven above? This interpretation haunts me. Or, does it simply mean that nothing would be any different had she lived? Surely if my mother were still alive today, she would remain in pain and be suffering, horribly. Regardless, the dreams of my mother continue. The nightmare has passed, but my not understanding it is still present.
I woke up at 4:00 this morning after another night of dreaming about my mother. I got out of bed, to let my precious pup outside to relive himself. Before long, I rested on the sofa in the darkness. I must have fallen asleep because I woke to the morning sun rising through our Eastern windows. Lifting the red velour throw from my lap, I got up to open the back door. Two deer (a buck and a doe) ran across our back yard and into the woods behind our house. An enormous turkey waddled in the field next door. Gazing above, I viewed puffy clouds of coral drifting across the serene baby-blue sky.
The early morning sunrise was one of the most stunning I have ever seen. A sense of peacefulness and serenity passed over me. Perhaps it was my dear mother telling me not to worry......
Is she at rest after all? It is my greatest hope.
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