Dancing on the Edge

My Dad - No Longer A SuperHero?

I dream a lot these days. I'm sure it has something to do with being in a light sleep and/or being woken up so often at night but whatever the reason, I've been having a ton of dreams since I first got pregnant with my son. Frankly, I'm not a fan of dreaming - which I know a lot of people think is weird but why on earth would I want to be busy all night long and then get up and be busy all day? I'd rather fall into a deep dark sleep and get some rest. But anyway.....

Last night I had a dream that's been bugging me all day so thought I'd share it and see if any of you have any insight. First and foremost, you should know going into this that I was always a "daddy's girl". :)

I was still living at home - I think I was in high school but still the current Iraq War was taking place. My dad was called to into service for the army (no, he never really served) and I was really upset that he was going for obvious reasons.

A few months after he left, we received word through some sort of source that said he had been killed but since we hadn't yet received "official" word, I wouldn't believe it. The person who was telling us he was dead said that he had been shot at many times before but that his belt buckle always deflected the bullets. On this day, however, he wasn't wearing his belt and the bullet hit and killed him.

I was then getting ready for the funeral but because we still hasn't had "the visit" from the military to confirm his death, I was still not believing it. Then, as we are walking behind the casket to the cemetery, two men in uniforms approached us - I remember starting to fall apart.

Then the baby cried and woke me up (again).

So what do you think? Was his belt buckle, which was large like the kind SuperHeroes wear, protecting him? Am I in disbelief that my dad isn't really *my dad* anymore since his stroke 12 years ago?

I think my trip up to visit my parents last week really got to me. Even though I like to say I am braced for the inevitable with my parents, maybe I'm really not.

I learned that my mom isn't doing well. If you remember an earlier posting from this summer, my mom has Primary Lateral Sclerosis which, in a nutshell is a progressive neurological disease. One of the effects is a wasting of muscle - which, for her, is getting worse. My brother shared with me other things as well regarding how painful it will be (and is) as the disease continues and how, without muscle to hold things in place, how her body will begin to contort in painful and horrible ways. How the doctors are noticing a rapid decline and how this may mean that this was our last Christmas with her. Even though this isn't "a terminal disease" the heart is a muscle and well - it doesn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.

Now I have my issues with my mom but I don't wish her to have a painful existence and death. I'm feeling guilt for lost time and then I don't feel guilt because of all that happened - and then I feel guilty for not feeling guilt. I wish a thousand million things but none of them can happen. I'm angry that she isn't fighting to live and I'm angry at me for being angry at her. And I'm sad - and I'm lonely for something I never even had. I don't know - I guess I always thought we had time - she is, afterall, only 67 years old - but I guess time is something we never have enough of. There is no way to really talk with her anymore - the disease and the medication to help her deal with muscle spasms and pain leaves her unable to focus or to hold a conversation of any depth. And - even if that wasn't the case, I'm not sure where I'd even begin.

So...back to my dream. I'm thinking that my dad is a fallen superhero, in my eyes, because he is incapable of protecting me from all of this.

But that's just me - and I'm not Freudian wanna-be.