Saturday, February 03, 2007

The Beginning of Being OK

It has been exactly four months and six days since my Mother died, and four days short of eight months since my Dad died.

Today was the very first day that I woke up and did NOT have as my first thought, "My parents are dead". It took a whole five minutes before that thought hit me. I am taking as a sign that I'm starting to heal. I call it, "the Beginning of Being OK".

From past experience with major heartbreaks and healings, I know that this is the signpost marking the true beginning of the rest of my life. My mind is becoming accustomed to the idea that they are no longer here and that this IS my life now, this IS the way it will always be from here on out. Those first five minutes were a relief.

I'm gonna live after all.

I had a very odd dream last night. Have you ever been in a dream, then woken up to go to the bathroom, fully conscious, then gone back to bed and returned to the dream to have it pick up where you left off? That happened last night.

The barebones of the plot of the dream was that my parents and I went to a fancy hotel during peak season. I had secured a suite for us. I did this, not them. They usually made the plans and I just went along with it. It was quite luxurious, with several bathrooms, more than we needed for the three of us (probably stemmed from my need to get up in real life). We toured it with great excitement on my part and neutrality on theirs, which bothered me a bit because I wanted them to be as excited as I was.

Suddenly, we noticed that someone else's luggage was in the room—it was already occupied by four guys (oddly, all gay, not sure what that means). The suite was big enough for all of us, and they welcomed us, but my parents didn't want to stay. I made a half-hearted attempt to secure another room for my parents and I, but the hotel was full. Rather than leave with them, I chose to stay.

[I woke up and went to the bathroom then went back to bed.] The dream picked up in the hotel then continued with my becoming a cast member on the L Word and loving my new career. (My character was a cross between Shane (played by Katherine Moennig on the L Word), Allison on "Medium", and the Ghost Whisperer; and Mia Kirshner ("Jenny" on the L Word) the actress was jealous of me because I'd become the director's Pet Actress without really trying, usurping her position as Pet Actress. Very strange.)

I'm wondering if the interpretation of the dream or parts of it anyway mean that I'm ready to move on into my new life, and that my parents are not going to be a part of it and I'm ok with that? Right before Mother died, I had a dream about my parents. They were both dressed up fancy, and I saw my Grandmother (her mother) in her coffin. Grandma died back in 1983. September 20th, to be exact. Dad told me in the dream that after Grandma's funeral, he was taking Mother on a long vacation to a place I wasn't allowed to go. When I woke up, I was panicked, of course, because it was the beginning of September and Mother was sick with cancer. I heaved a sigh of relief when September 20th came and went and she was still here. Of course, she died September 30th. *sigh*

I wonder if it's my turn to tell them, hey, this time I'm going somewhere that you aren't allowed to go, though you're invited if you want to. But I'm going anyway.

The destination is my future. AKA the rest of my life.

There has not been much knitting around here lately, but there has been a lot of silk painting, weaving, and a return to cross-stitching. I picked up a piece of cross-stitch of a Phoenix rising into the moon that I started back in 1989. (I know the year because I was cross-stitching all the way to Los Angeles and remember starting this out there.) It was almost finished except for part of the moon and the backstitching of the outline. Last night, I finished the moon and started the backstitching. It just occurred to me that it's been waiting 18 years to be finished.

I find some significance in the fact that the subject matter is a Phoenix. Legend has it that:
the Phoenix is a supernatural creature, living for 1000 years. Once that time is over, it builds its own funeral pyre, and throws itself into the flames. As it dies, it is reborn anew, and rises from the ashes to live another 1000 years. Alternatively, it lays an egg in the burning coals of the fire which hatches into a new Phoenix, and the life cycle repeats.*

This anaology is certainly appropriate to my life. I am, in a sense, a Phoenix rising from the ashes of my life with my parents.

* Quote courtesy Image courtesy of



At 1:02 AM, February 04, 2007, Anonymous Anonymous said...

That reminds me of a dream I had, I can't remember if my Mum was alive then or not...but she was off to a really big, new shop and I wasn't allowed to come, I remember her going up the stairs smiling back at me and me being left behind. I really wanted to go with her but wasn't allowed to.
Strange isn't it?

At 3:23 AM, February 04, 2007, Anonymous tiennie said...

I think you are getting stronger - you certainly sound like it.

I've had continuations of certain dreams even years later!

At 6:40 AM, February 04, 2007, Blogger Jeanne said...

Yes, Anonymous, it is strange. It causes me to wonder whether we're receiving psychic messages, or if Freud was onto something.

Thank you, Tiennie. I'm working on it. Repeating dreams fascinate me. Feel free to email me some if you like!

At 7:40 PM, February 04, 2007, Blogger Sheepish Annie said...

The brain is an amazing thing. It will let you process and heal when you are asleep, completely open and ready to take some steps. It sounds like this was a very profound experience for you.

At 1:52 PM, February 05, 2007, Anonymous Debby said...

I'm happy for you that you are able to notice progress in your healing process. I love the metaphor of the Phoenix and it always gives me hope when things seem lost.

Re: your previous post: I always hated group projects for the same reasons. Ugh.

At 3:03 PM, February 05, 2007, Anonymous Carrie K said...

The Phoenix sounds wonderfully appropriate and interesting that you picked it up 18 years later.

I've done that with dreams - continued them.

Continuing on is hard. I'm glad that you're beginning to be okay.


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