Flashback Friday: The dream

Flashback Friday

The most vivid dream I've ever had from the active subconscious of my teenage self...

I woke calmly close to four o'clock in the morning. A thick silence filled my 11-year-old house. Through the darkness I crept down the stairs I knew by heart. I saw the silhouette of my mother standing silent, blankly staring out our front window.

Without approaching the window, I stepped out into the bitter night. The rain splashed on my warm skin and a sharp wind whipped around me. There in the rain-flooded yard stood a familiar man amidst a mess of our possessions.

He appeared to be aware of my presence but made no attempt to acknowledge me. Thunder shook the siding on my house and lightning lit up the sky. He didn't even flinch. In fact he remained motionless for what seemed like forever.

In the silence, I took a good look at the man I had called my father for nineteen years. He looked the same as he had when he left six years before. His shiny black hair was full but neatly trimmed. On his nose rested his thick, black-framed glasses. He was comfortably dressed and he held his 6'3'' frame with confidence.

After forever passed, he picked up and held in front of him a rug he and my mother had owned all of their 22 years together. He held it high and stared at it as if it were something sacred. For a moment, I thought he was going to tear it in two. Instead, he lay it carefully on the ground in front of him.

From a garbage bag to his right, he pulled out two objects. One, a pole that extended to be 30 or 40 feet long. The other was something I had never seen before. I held my breath as he raised his eyes to mine. His sparkling hazel eyes, identical to mine, now appeared cold and black. He seemed to look right through me. I don't think he even knew who I was.

"If this doesn't work, you will finish for me." His powerful voice I had grown to both resent and love rang loud in my ears. A sharp blade landed at my feet and I backed into the corner of my porch. I was frozen with fear and confusion.

Despite my terror, my body managed to shake and tremble at its own will. I stole a quick glance at my mother in the window to see that she had yet to move and remained expressionless. I slowly turned my head back to my father to see him move in calculated, controlled motions.

He raised the unfamiliar object to his mouth and it extended one foot to his left and six feet to his right. On the long end there were hundreds of tiny, reflective mirrors covering a platform the size of a pizza box. He reached for the long pole and raised it high above his head in both hands, dropping to his knees.

Once again the thunder rattled through the walls of my childhood home. I closed my eyes to block out the event unfolding before me. The lightning flashed and electricity surged through my father, illuminating the whole street and brightening even the backs of my eyelids.

He didn't scream or even groan as the powerful current raced through his body, boiling his blood and ending his life.

I heard his body fall to the grass with a soft thump and the pole tinkered to the sidewalk. The rain stopped and the wind settled. One of the tiny mirrors shifted as it settled, reflecting back to me the unchanged, blank expression of my mother.

A strange courage arose in me. I brought myself to my feet and approached my lifeless father. I bent down close to his face. The cold air swirling around us sent a chill up my spin. I blew him a kiss and allowed him to step out of my life one last time.

Honor what you have

“When you honor what you have, you’re honoring what I’ve lost.”

~Brené Brown, Daring Greatly

In the past 16 months I have lost 3 grandparents, my sister-in-law, my dog, and suffered a miscarriage. It would be impossible to experience this and not feel heavy and somber at times. It’s hard not to dwell on the loss and the noticeable voids in my life. And if I’m honest, sometimes it’s even harder not to envy what others have that I don’t. 

I’m endlessly grateful for your kind words, genuine hugs, thoughtful cards, and prayers during this difficult stretch. They have been so comforting and soothing. Some days, I’m nearly dependent on them to keep sight of the good when things seem so dark. 

If you can do all this for me, can you do one more thing? Honor what you have. And in doing so you can honor what I’ve lost. 

In the middle of the night when your baby cries for the 17th time and you just want to sleep, honor the opportunity to hold your baby as I would’ve liked to hold mine. When your dog chews something up or begs to go outside or needs to squeeze into the smallest space on the couch to be with you, honor that companionship and know how much I miss it. When your grandparent tells the same story for the 8th time, honor that history and know that I no longer have that reach into the past through my family tree. When you don’t see eye-to-eye with someone, when you don’t know how to help someone who needs it, when you don’t know how to forgive someone’s mistakes, honor that difficulty and know that in one relationship, I no longer have the chance to try. 

I know as you’re reading this, you’re thinking of your own loss. And I know you’re thinking of how much I still have. Some of which you don’t anymore. I’m right there with you. I know how much you have lost. I know how much your heart has broken in the last year, 2 years, 5 years. 

I see you. 

I promise to honor what I have, and in doing so, I promise to honor what you have lost. 

This week, I’m going to hold my 5yo a little tighter because I know his life is a gift in mine. I vow to call my mom and my dad. I’m going to tell my husband I love him and mean it. I’m going to invite my friends into my home and enjoy the companionship and memories we share. I’m going to snuggle my dog because I value her loyalty and presence in my life. 

I think we can do this for each other. I think that we can ease the ache of loss by really loving and embracing all that we have right now. 

So, here’s what I ask of you: share with me your successes and experiences and relationships. With you, I will celebrate all that you have and gratefully accept the honor you’re paying to what has been lost.