The last couple of weeks I've done a pretty good job keeping my sad thoughts about him to a minimum, minus the few passing thoughts here and there. But in the last few nights, he's slowly been creeping back into my mind, taking over nearly every thought. I keep thinking about these two dreams that I kept having right after he died. They were so vivid and real.
In one, I was in his hospital room with him...back on the day when the doctor told me that his kidney function had decreased to 17% overnight. But this time, I stayed in the room alone with dad after the doctor and nurse left the room. And all of a sudden, he woke up. He took his oxygen off and somehow, he didn't have the vent in his mouth anymore. He was perky, wondering what I was doing there, and telling me how much better he felt. His numbers on the machine were great. His swelling went away as we were talking. I grabbed my cell phone and started calling my sister, my mom, my husband...but no one would come. No one would get excited with me. After I had called everyone, dad asked me when they were coming. I told him that they weren't, that they had told me that he was still going to die. He was confused...he didn't understand why no one would come for him. We were still talking when I woke up. But that dream shakes me to my core every time I think about it. Wherever he was...did he feel that alone? That confused and scared? Did he feel like no one cared?
The second one was even more disturbing, because in the dream, I knew that I was dreaming. Sounds insane, right? Yeah. My siblings and I were all standing outside of dad's ICU room talking, and suddenly, behind my siblings in a hallway going in a different direction, I saw dad walk by in his flannel jacket (the same one that I keep by my bed now). In the dream I thought "This dream may not last long, you've GOT to ask him your questions!", so I ran down the hall after him, yelling his name. He kept walking and just turned and called behind him "I've got to go". Finally I caught up to him, grabbed his shoulder and he stopped and turned around. His face was expressionless. He didn't even make eye contact with me. He looked beyond me. I asked if he thought that I had been ignoring him because I had missed his calls the week before he died. He said, "yes". I asked him if he heard me when I broke down in his hospital room and begged him not to leave me alone, again, "yes". I asked him if he knew how much I loved him, and again...a simple "yes". I asked him if he knew when they told him they were sedating him to put him on the vent, if he knew that he'd never wake up, he said "yes". There were no detailed answers. And I didn't have time to ask him to elaborate, or to explain myself when he said that he did think that I had been avoiding him. I just knew that I had to ask all the questions that I could manage to ask before I woke up. I told him that I loved him and that I missed him more than I ever knew I could miss anymore. He told me that he knew. I grabbed him, I hugged him, I inhaled him. And then he turned and walked away. Within a few seconds, he was gone and I was standing in that cold hospital hallway alone. THEN, I woke up.
These may seem simple, silly dreams to some...but I was in that room with him. I saw him before he was sedated, when he was struggling to catch a breath, and I saw him after, when the machine was breathing for him. I held his hands, I could feel how swollen they were. I felt him, I remembered how badly he was sweating and how helpless he looked. That is not something that can easily be shaken. And apparently, all of it has effected me a little more than I thought. I thought I was moving forward, since I've been able to function normally and have my moments here and there while keeping them in check...but I guess not.
I never knew how I would handle losing my dad, but I never EVER thought that I'd have to find out this soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment