I remember my last nightmare from this morning.

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The kids and I were at some arena where there had been a concert or sports game.

I had lost my phone and wallet.

We were all looking around, and then my son came to me with a wallet.  Not my wallet, so I just looked at him.

He said, “It’s dad’s.”

Still looking.

There was some kind of governmental paper in it, or passport, something very important, and $80 or so.

“Take it,” he said.

No, I couldn’t do that.  I followed my son with my eyes as he returned it to his dad.

Yes, there they were, several rows down in the next section over.  He looked about the same.  They got up.  She did too, but her hair was lighter.  They started walking up the aisle.  There was another man.  Older.  Her father?

I narrowed my eyes to get a good look.  None of them caught my gaze.

Then the kids were gone, and I was still without a phone or wallet.  I found my way out of the venue through a sports retail store on the ground floor.

The streets of this city were unfamiliar and it was dark.

What was I going to do?

I have had that question several time over the past year, and I have been able to figure a lot of things out with a deep breath and open mind.

I was so weary, though, in the dream.  Utterly alone.  I didn’t want to figure that one out.

I woke up.  The kitty was there as usual patiently waiting to be fed.  There was snow outside and warmth inside.

I got up and started the mindless march to the day:  shower, coffee, clothes.

Reprieve.

 

 

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Psychic? Witchy? Only sporadically and seemingly without purpose.

When I was at my mother’s house, I woke up on Saturday, January 23rd, and thoughts of my grandmother’s death drifted past the bed I was using upstairs.

She died in the house my mother lives in now.  The house I was visiting.  The house my mother grew up in.  The house my dad died in a few years ago.  Same room as my grandmother.

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I was trying to piece together what season she died, who was there.  I was living in the same state at the time, with “-” and my 1-year-old son, while “-” took the LSAT and applied to law schools.  I don’t remember either of them being in the house when my grandmother died.

I remember my mom, her two brothers, and I think my dad, praying over my grandmother’s newly deceased body, and my mother closing the door to the back room and saying, “Well, let’s get you cleaned up and dressed.”  The coroner came and took my grandmother out in a body bag.  Before that, I’d only seen homicide victims taken from houses in body bags on TV.  I wanted to say, “Can you unzip that just a little?  So she can breath?”

Hmmm. I couldn’t place the season.  The month.  The date.

My grandmother “gave” her body to science.  She thought she had a disease that someone wanted to study.  We have never received, nor gone after, the autopsy, but when I was home this last time, somehow my mother thought that it turned out that my grandmother actually didn’t have the disease they thought she did.

Tracking down that autopsy sounds like a perfect job for my mother’s oldest sister.  So far, though, no one has tried to get a copy.

About six months after my grandmother’s death, I had a dream that she came to a family gathering at her house.  Aunts, uncles, cousins, all there, balancing paper plates and drinks.  There were dining room chairs set around the perimeter of the living room to accommodate everyone.  I couldn’t tell why the family had gathered.  My grandmother took a seat in one of the dining room chairs with her plate.

She looked uneasy.  That could have been because each family member in the dream was whispering to another family member.  They were saying, “What is she doing here?  Doesn’t she know she’s dead?”  She finally figured out what was being whispered about her and stood up.  She looked sheepishly at everyone and left.

It was so odd that I called my mother and told her.  She paused for a long time.  Then she said, “Your sister had the same dream.”

Weird.

“And, we received your grandmother’s ashes in the mail yesterday.”

Weirder.

At breakfast on Saturday, January 23, 2016, my mother said to my sister and me, “Do either of you remember that your grandmother died 23 years ago today?”

Weirdest.

I’ve only had a few of those incidents happen.  I also saw a “ghost” car go off the road ahead of me once.  I stopped to help, but it wasn’t there.  I also seemed to “know” the minute I was pregnant with each of my children.  “-” used to call it “witchy.”

Could I cultivate this “knowing”?  Maybe.  Would I regret it?  Maybe.  I know someone who is much more “psychic” than me.  She said recently that her prophetic dreams are never about happy things.

Moving on

 

 

Divorce and Dreams

My 23rd anniversary was 2/15/15.  We celebrated the 13th, and he left on a business trip with some colleagues on the 14th, one of which he had worked with before at a different place, and we have known for eight or so years.  Maybe longer.  My daughter baby sat her kids.  My daughter also attended a summer theater camp that her husband ran.

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There was a whopper of a snowstorm on the 14th and they had to keep making alternate arrangements to get to their destination.  I got the details text by text.   That is something I would HATE.  Better them than me, I said.   He said they were “just trying to laugh a lot.”  One night, I can’t remember which, the texts stopped.

Sometime between 2/14 and 2/19 they declared their love for each other.  I picked them up at the airport.  He teased her about something gooey she ate on their layover and she cocked her head and smiled like a middle school girl.  I had the sense she wanted to sit in the front seat on the way to pick up her car.  I got there first without having to actually call shotgun.  Why did I feel that that might be necessary?

Let’s say the betrayal was on 2/16.  He told me on 3/16 – that’s 28 days later.  I guess she had had a bout of cold feet, but came to her senses.  My birthday was during that timeframe.  Phone records show he called her four times on my birthday for a total of just about three hours.  Are you cringing yet?

It has been 162 days now.  On Sunday night, the 160th day, she wormed her way into my dreams.  I’m surprised it took that long.  I asked her how her husband liked sharing his kids with my husband.  Divorce and dreams are weird.  I could tell her to get out of my dreams, but not to get into my heart.  Even though there’s plenty of room in there now, she needs to stay the hell away from it and all the other hearts close to mine.  And from my dreams, too.

I banish thee.  I banish thee.  I banish thee.

Moving on