My nights are as turbulent as my days are still. I’m dreaming a lot these last few nights, and it seems to me my dreams are harbingers for things to come.
I dreamt the other night of my mother before she was sick. She seemed so different that when I woke I realised I had almost forgotten her like that. She was bright and engaging, extroverted and happy. In the dream there seemed little of concern, just these moments of blithe enjoyment. It made me sad thinking of it later, how those days are forever gone now, and just a memory.
I dreamt other things too, of a job where I got an unexpected promotion, and dreams with friends in them, and women I know. I seem to close my eyes these days only to begin dreaming. There is some comfort in the dreams somehow. Some reassuring solace no matter how sad, and I can’t quite explain that. Perhaps I feel sometimes I see more clearly and more deeply with my eyes closed. Asleep all else drops away and left are those residual feelings and thought that have no shape in the daylight hours.
Unfortunately that reassurance only lasts as long as I am asleep, or am nestled still in it’s foggy tail. Awake and with the sun shining it is a different matter. Mostly, now, I am sad. There’s a lot going on, but most of it is mum for me. She declines each day. Soon enough she’ll be dead. I can’t imagine still. I don’t understand.