Monday, October 18, 2010

Some Days I'm Bursting at the Seams With All My Half-Remembered Dreams*

I've been having the most vivid dreams lately.


I dream the ponds behind our house are flooding, flooding our pool and subsequently our home. Gigantic catfish, bigger than actual cats, float through my living room.


I dream that I am running, faster and faster. The ground beneath my feet is the softest grass, and I am barefoot and I feel exhilarated, like I could run forever, like I want to run forever, barefoot on this silky meadow.


I dream that J- walks into my office, wearing his burgundy sweater and khaki pants. "Hey," he says. "How ya' doin'?"

I spin in my chair, surprised to see him. I have one of those moments of spooky clarity, where I know I'm dreaming. I have not dreamed of J- since before his death.

"You died," I say. "And it SUCKED. Don't do that again."

"Yeah," he agrees. "That sucked."


The next night I dream of J- again. He is sitting in my living room, which, in reality, now holds J-s last beloved leather lazy boy, recently moved from my J- and my aunt's home**.

In my dream, the lazy boy is conspicuously absent, and he sits in the chair he always sat in, when he sat in my living room.

He is holding our ancient orange cat on his lap, stroking his back, scratching his ears.

Again, he is wearing his burgundy sweater. Again, with the spooky moment of clarity, the realization of a dream state.

I want to ask him why he keeps wearing this burgundy sweater. I want to ask him where he is now. I say nothing.

He keeps petting the cat. "I'm going to have to take him with me when I go," he says.

"I know," I say.


When I woke up that morning, I went searching for the cat. He was hard to find, and his breathing was shallow. He was curled beneath one of the couches in the living room.

That was four days ago. Every day since I have been shocked to find him still with us.

He is (probably) 18, perhaps 19. He's been with us since 1994. His days are dwindling down. I am comforted by the idea that J- will take him to the other side...which is probably where the dream came from. Probably.


*David Gray, Ain't No Love
** Having the chair in her living room was too painful for my aunt, and she asked us to take it.


OpenID mrsbroccoliguy said...

Dreams facinate me, the way they bring out our thoughts and turn them into allegories. And dreams where we see someone we are missing... those are so bittersweet. Nice in a way to have "visit" but then the pain of missing them when you wake up and the sense that they *should* be there are really disconcerting. But I also like the idea that your uncle will be there to help your kitty cross over. And how nice to think of him sitting on a comfortable chair in heaven with your cat on his lap.

Monday, October 18, 2010 5:31:00 PM  
OpenID vanessagalore said...

I'm so sorry about your kitty.

Monday, October 18, 2010 7:43:00 PM  
Blogger E.H. said...

Every time I've lost someone close, I've had them visit in dreams. It's always so comforting.

Monday, October 18, 2010 9:36:00 PM  
OpenID lookingforgeorge said...

The dreams about J~ and your cat make so much sense given everythin. I'm curious though. What do you think the dream about running through grass means? It is very interesting; but, like Christina, dreams fascinate me. Especially the ones that you can just tell are really meaningful.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010 8:50:00 AM  
Blogger Kiersten said...

WOW!! Charlotte (my friend that is a medium), would say without a doubt that J- is visiting you from the other side, and that he had the conversation about the cat as a way of comforting you when she goes. That is wonderful, and I am so glad you've written down these dreams to preserve them.

Love to you all.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010 7:58:00 PM  
Blogger teahouse said...

Really beautiful post.

It must be a measure of comfort to you, knowing that J is on the other side, waiting with open arms for your kitty.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010 10:05:00 PM  
Blogger kitchu said...

i am in tears. i envy the clarity in your dreams of J. when i had them of my mom in that first year after she was gone, the same thing would happen, i would wake up in the dream and realize it was a dream, and that she was dead. she kept trying to tell me something, and i'd feel myself waking and would have to interrupt to tell her i loved her, missed her, and then it was over and i was left blinking, wishing i could find my way back to the dream.

and i loved the title to this post. i am a huge David Gray fan.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010 8:27:00 AM  

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