I woke up from a nightmare last night. I dreamt that I was driving back to my childhood house and there was a tornado coming. I was trying to get home before the tornado hit, but I couldn’t. I had to pull onto the side of the road and wait it out in a ditch. Just one block away. After the tornado passed, I ran to my house and it was completely gone. My father, the house, all my childhood memories. I believe it was symbolic. I lost my mother (who took her last breath in that home) in 2009. My father, who still lives there, called me yesterday with some concerning news regarding the follow up treatment of his colon cancer. I’m sure that the tornado was life whisking away the innocence I had as a child.
It’s amazing how time works in life. When my mom was sick, I felt as if time stood still. Seeing her deal with her cancer made the clock almost move backwards. But, funny enough, when life is good – you blink and the moment is gone. My dream made me feel like the first entire part of my life in that house vanished in seconds. When my father passes, he insists that we sell the house since my sister and I live so far away and, as he says, we will have no need for it. But I actually DO need the house still as it’s symbolic of my being a child. Even now.
I realize I’m not mentally prepared for that moment that when Dad is gone, we sell the house and all the innards but a few handful of memorial keepsakes. To me, it’s closing a chapter in life that I’m just not ready for. I want to bring my children to this house to visit their grandpa and create more memories. The transition of “life with parents” to “I’m a mom in another city with no parents” is tough enough. But to have such little layover in these periods of life makes it more difficult.
At 4 am this morning I sat in bed and cried for about 15 minutes. I know how hard it was to cope with Mom, I”m not ready to lose my dad. I’m not ready to say goodbye to my childhood because in my eyes, I see it as a loss of innocence. I just want to give my dad a hug and cling on for just a few more minutes. I just want my mommy here to give me a hug and tell me “Don’t worry. It was just a nightmare – I love you”. But I can’t.
So, I did what I always tell my husband we shouldn’t do – I crawled into my son’s bed and hugged him. He didn’t even stir. I sat in his bed and spooned him and whispered “I love you”. I fell asleep listening to the gentle quick breaths of my 2 year old sleeping. I miss my mommy. I will book a flight tomorrow to Ohio to bring my children to visit their Grandpa. And hug him. Because someday I can’t.
It’s amazing how time works in life. When my mom was sick, I felt as if time stood still. Seeing her deal with her cancer made the clock almost move backwards. But, funny enough, when life is good – you blink and the moment is gone. My dream made me feel like the first entire part of my life in that house vanished in seconds. When my father passes, he insists that we sell the house since my sister and I live so far away and, as he says, we will have no need for it. But I actually DO need the house still as it’s symbolic of my being a child. Even now.
I realize I’m not mentally prepared for that moment that when Dad is gone, we sell the house and all the innards but a few handful of memorial keepsakes. To me, it’s closing a chapter in life that I’m just not ready for. I want to bring my children to this house to visit their grandpa and create more memories. The transition of “life with parents” to “I’m a mom in another city with no parents” is tough enough. But to have such little layover in these periods of life makes it more difficult.
At 4 am this morning I sat in bed and cried for about 15 minutes. I know how hard it was to cope with Mom, I”m not ready to lose my dad. I’m not ready to say goodbye to my childhood because in my eyes, I see it as a loss of innocence. I just want to give my dad a hug and cling on for just a few more minutes. I just want my mommy here to give me a hug and tell me “Don’t worry. It was just a nightmare – I love you”. But I can’t.
So, I did what I always tell my husband we shouldn’t do – I crawled into my son’s bed and hugged him. He didn’t even stir. I sat in his bed and spooned him and whispered “I love you”. I fell asleep listening to the gentle quick breaths of my 2 year old sleeping. I miss my mommy. I will book a flight tomorrow to Ohio to bring my children to visit their Grandpa. And hug him. Because someday I can’t.
