I Do Not Want To Dream ANYMORE. Ever.

I’ve been having some doozy dreams in the last couple of weeks and, with the exception of one that made me feel peaceful and calm, the rest of them can royally suck it.

Two nights ago, as Greg and I were lying in bed drifting off to sleep with Juno snuggled up in between us, he told me that he has been feeling really sad lately that Juno isn’t going to be around for much longer. I laughed and told him that Juno is only six years old and our last dog, Dyogi, lived to the ripe old age of 16, so Juno most likely has a long, happy and healthy stretch to go before he leaves us. However, I really do understand Greg’s anxiety because I sometimes feel it all too keenly as well. When Cora died, Juno became our rock. He let us hold onto him and sob, made us smile through a tsunami of seemingly never-ending tears, kept us active every day because he needs a ton of exercise, and just kept us living and moving forward. Looking back, it is astonishing how much a dog made all the difference in helping us get through our grief. I sometimes wonder if there was some sort of kismet involved in his finding his way to us because he really is such a healing presence to have around. So, I understand exactly why Greg hangs on to him so tightly and worries about him so much because if something were to happen to him, I’m not sure we could keep on trucking anymore.

After our brief conversation, I drifted off into sleep and, just before I woke up, I had the most heartbreaking dream about Juno. I was running with him along the sand dunes at one of the beaches we frequent. He was approximately four or five feet ahead of me and we were running along just below where the trails meet the beach in a four foot drop off. For some reason, he decided to jump from the beach up onto the shelf of dirt above, but he didn’t quite make it and he slipped back down off the shelf, onto the beach. Not a big deal, really, except that the spot he slipped back onto was on the edge of a hole, just big enough for him to fall through. He slipped back and his body slipped half way into the hole and he scrabbled frantically with his front paws, trying to claw his way out. It was no use. I stood there, frozen with my heart in my mouth, watching him try to pull himself out of the hole and then he lost the battle and slipped in and was gone. I ran to the hole and called him and tried to see him, but there was no sound and I could see nothing but a black, endless abyss. I knew he was dead and gone.

I woke up, unable to breathe, with my head spinning and I was completely consumed by a feeling of impotent helplessness and despair – the exact feelings I had when the doctors had informed  us that Cora’s brain was barely functioning anymore and she was, for all intents and purposes, brain dead. It was the same feeling that overtook me when we made the decision to take her off life support – like my chest had been carved out and I was only an empty shell of a person with one feeling sustaining me – pain. One dream about my dog dying and, suddenly, I was reliving my daughter’s death. Again. I got out of bed wondering if this is ever going to stop and the entire day was a blur of sadness, frustration and that hollow-chested feeling. Add the feeling of pain from my cracked rib into the mix and, well, I was a hot mess. 😦

I’m still feeling the effects of the dream and my grief today, but I am so completely done with pain overriding my progress. This is why I blog a lot of the time. I need to get this out and move on and it really is so much easier to project this kind of thing to strangers, rather than burden the people around me with the fact that I’m still processing grief, even after 26 months.

I have decided that I am no longer interested in dreaming. Ever. I would rather have a peaceful night’s sleep with no disturbances, negative or positive, than have even one more grief-triggering dream. I am totally certain that this isn’t actually possible, but a girl can dream – so-to-speak – can’t she!

Peace out peeps. I’m going to breathe in good vibes all day and breathe out all the toxic crap inside me and try to get some editing done. I wish you all enough…

One thought on “I Do Not Want To Dream ANYMORE. Ever.

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