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dead, dead, dead. someday you’ll be dead.

December 9, 2011

Awful, awful, terrible dream last night. I woke up and I wanted to cry.

My mother and I are in a car, heading home from somewhere. I am in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio, looking out the window, chatting with Mum. Suddenly, the knowledge that a snowstorm is rapidly approaching fills our consciousness, as if we’ve known all along. A news bulletin comes on the radio: “Attention drivers! Snow will begin in approximately one minute. Prepare yourselves by pulling over to the side of the road.” The road is already wet, and bright in the sun. We start talking again, about the storm and what to expect. Just as we’re driving up a big hill close to my parents’ house, the storm hits us like a wave. A huge gust heaps snow up and down the road we are riding on, and all along the houses and forest that surround us there are big white piles where grass and greenery once was.

I suddenly become aware that Pete isn’t in the car with us. He’s driving somewhere else, to a friend’s or to church. I worry about him with that sudden storm, and wonder how he’s doing. I check my phone to see if he called me. No messages. So, I call him up. He doesn’t answer, and naturally, I worry. By this time, my mom has pulled over into a parking lot. The snow is over and the sun is out, but two feet of snow covers the ground outside the car. People are emerging from buildings and cars, seeking each other out as if in the aftermath of something huge and destructive. I call Pete again, and this time I can hear the machine-click of a message about to begin. “This is an automated message. If you are receiving it, please note that collections are on Tuesdays and Thursdays–,” I take my head away from the phone in horror. No, no, no, no. I don’t understand (but I do). “WHAT ARE YOU SAYING,” I yell into the phone, knowing that the message can’t answer me. I check the number I dialed to make sure it’s the right one. It is. I frantically call the number again, and when I hear that machine noise again on the other line, I scream, “NO, NO, NO I DON’T UNDERSTAND THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING NO, NO, NO,” and a woman’s voice responds: “I’m sorry. Your husband is dead. The funeral is tomorrow.” “Where is he?” I ask, but she has already hung up. “WHERE IS HE?” I repeat, loudly, screaming and crying, into the air and at my mother and out the car window and to anyone who will listen. I can’t believe it’s real until I see him myself, but nobody can tell me where he is or what happened to him. My heart is broken. I have a very strong sense that I’ve dreamed about this in the past, and now it’s happening in real life.

I see a big snow pile outside with kids climbing on it. I stumble over to it and see a pair of boots sticking out of the ground. I pull up on the boots and a person’s body comes out of the snow drift. It’s a dead body, but it’s not Pete. The person who is sitting next to the dead body just looks on down the road at the cleanup crews. I ask her if she knows this person. She shakes her head and keeps on staring in the distance. As I walk back to the car, I realize we are in the parking lot of a funeral parlor. Maybe Pete is inside, and it’s all a mistake? I want him to be in there, alive, taking shelter from the storm. Everything has already started to melt. There are icicles on the big white building. It was such a quick storm; how could anything so bad happen in such a small amount of time?

I wander around the outside of the building a bit, then walk up the ramp and into the foyer. It has dark carpets and old wallpaper. It smells like roses and lilies. A group of women walk past me in large black hats. I start to cry again. Did I miss it? I thought it was tomorrow! I approach a woman and ask whose funeral this is. She gives me the name of some other person, and I sigh. At least I got the date right. But again, I cry, because I can’t stop thinking about Pete, and his warm, huggable body lying cold in a snowbank (I imagine he died in a car accident, but I still have no idea!). I want to smile with him again, I want to hold hands again. I slump down in a corner of a room in the funeral home and cry and cry, and heave a sob, and sniffle up my snot, and cry some more. I want to die, too.

Then, by some miracle, I woke up.

I wasn’t crying when I woke up, but I felt so heavy, like something terribly large was settle on top of me. I had trouble moving for a minute. Then I realized what I had just dreamed, and realized I had dreamed that I’d dreamed it before, and in that emerging-from-sleep-y haze, I grew terrified. Luckily, I heard Pete’s spoon scraping the cereal bowl in the other room, and I was immediately brought back to “real” life. I told Pete about it and he said, “Well, don’t worry, because dreams don’t come true.” Oh, okay. Thanks.

I can’t help wondering if this is my brain subtly waiting for the other shoe to drop? Life has been so good to us, and I just got offered a new job yesterday (YAY!), so I hope this is just my brain’s messed-up way of anticipating something bad because something good has happened. I’m not sure why, but I have an innate sense that cosmic balance is real, and that when something good (or bad) happens, the opposite thing will eventually happen to balance it out. I can’t shake it! I’ve tried! But my subconscious can’t be controlled. Ugh. I’ve had a sad feeling all morning because of this dream.

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4 Comments leave one →
  1. December 9, 2011 3:07 pm

    That was really intense to read! Made me sad too. Don’t worry about it! Congrats on your new job 🙂

    • December 9, 2011 5:40 pm

      Thanks, Annie! I am SO EXCITED for my new job (working in a library, I can’t wait!).

  2. December 9, 2011 7:32 pm

    That is so something Pete would say, haha. And I don’t think it’s foreshadowing. It’s probably your subconscious- as much as you may not realize or want to admit, there is a part of you that is maybe a bit sad about ending one chapter in your life (current job) and starting a new one. It’s just the natural grieving process, even if you feel like you shouldn’t be grieving! 🙂

  3. clapyourhandssayyams permalink
    December 9, 2011 11:19 pm

    These types of dreams are so scary. Usually my dreams are nice to me, but I know that feeling wel of waking up and feeling like a monster punched you right in the heart. I like to think of them as positively as possible, though I know that’s hard to say/hear. Take it as a warning not to take things for granted, and go out of your way to enjoy Pete and everything else that makes your life wonderful.

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