Saturday, January 10, 2009

Dream Interpretation...

It's okay, I am alright. In my inner heart I probably am torn, but much less so than so many other people who are in the depths of depression or coping very badly with their grief. There are many people out there much worse off in that regard than me. I know my baby is gone though - that I do know, and it's not as though I spend afternoons trying to wish her back to life, because that isn't real and isn't going to work.

I don't know. Perhaps the whole dream was to do with having another baby, and my body be the home for another. In that regard, the porch would be my womb, and the memory of Josie would have to depart for another child to enter. For a while, I really thought of my womb as Josie's home, which was then empty of her. The empty feeling was the most awful thing. As I healed, I still thought of it as her house, her room and at times in my very early grief, felt almost panic stricken as it shrunk as well as a terrified elation at my own healing, because the smaller it got, the harder it would be to put her back in there...

Funny things, our minds do to us in grief. It's almost like being a child again, having to learn what the hell to do in that kind of grief situation. When you're a kid, you have to learn "big" things. Then as an adult most of the things you learn are little things, until something like this happens and then you're transported straight back into a world of child learning, where grief is once again a "big" thing you have to know?

It's really simply put actually - the world it taken out from under you feet, not in a sorrowful way this time (with the learning process) but leaving you instead in a totally helpless state with nothing at all to hang on. You have to re-learn everything after something like this - even loading the dishwasher, and when you do, you forge your own reality. You also (bonus) have the opportunity to re-form your life from ONLY the best constituent parts of your life and personality before.

What I am trying to say I suppose, is that you take with you into the future a being - yourself - of your own forming in the vacuum and emptiness of grief, so you can, if you choose, rebuild yourself as a better person than before. It's like you're a soul suspended in space, held together by a spark of light, being circled by the broken parts of your before-life, having to take old pieces and stardust and stick them on yourself to make you solid again. You can leave some parts behind you - you just have to make sure you take and leave the right parts.

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