Visitation? I have dreamed about Ned dozens of times since his death. On two occasions I knew, beyond doubt, that he came to me. they had a different quality, that of independent presence, not memory, not my unconscious trying to work things out. Both those times were within a month of his death. And in both cases I was in a half-asleep state, not a deep one. I had one visitation dream from my father, none from my mother, and none from David. Until, possibly, today. This morning, woke too early, as I have been. Finally talked myself back to semi-sleep semi-wakefulness relaxed state. About five or 10 minutes into it, suddenly I was at the farm in Vermont, standing at the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. The door to the destroyed wing of the house (formerly the rumpus room , guest bedroom, and guest bath, and screen porch) opened. In strode David, definitive and relaxed, wearing a white flannel shirt with red and gray plaid on it; he did not have such a shirt in real life. He said, in a cheerful manner, drawn-out, again not characteristic of him, Gooooooood morning! And, before I could respond, said these two words: Im sorry. And then I woke. His tone was apologetic; tender, sincere. The meaning/feeling I got was Im sorry I did this to you, left you with this, not Im sorry I did it. Not Im suffering. But simply regretful, sorry he caused me pain. Tears prickled my eyes. Both at the time, and now, again, as I recall it. Also a sense of relief. Contemplating this a dream I thought, yeah, but why that door? Not a place that he came from often, as opposed to say, the door from his office. Of course the minute I thought about it, I got it – coming from the ruined part of the house. Coming out of the destruction, the part he was supposed to be taking care of with the insurance, the part, really, that is the root of the decision-making I must face about whether to sell or hold onto the farm. Im sitting with all this, on a gray New York day, having had lunch with my SALM. Contemplative, now as I pick up, wash the dishes, tidy the apartment, prepare to see SALM again this evening, come in and out of awareness of the pain beating in my shoulder, catch a snatch of a boat going by on the sliver of harbor I see from my window. Life, you bittersweet enigma you. David, you also.
Posted on: Wed, 17 Dec 2014 19:20:13 +0000
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