Tag: grieving

Hurting

The country is in despair. We are in the midst of not only a pandemic but in the midst of awful events that have happened recently where racial minorities have been killed – murdered. Racism is on the spotlight as the country struggles to acknowledge the social and economic disparities affecting racial minorities in the United States.

As a Hispanic in this country, watching and listening to the news and seeing graphic videos of violence against African-Americans and Hispanics have been overwhelming. I share the fear, anxiety, and pain of those who have been insulted, disrespected, abused, oppressed, and discriminated against. I hurt as many others do and the pain is real.

As I embark on many walks trying to clear my head, I can’t seem to be able to push away the ugly reality that surrounds me. In a way, I feel compelled to think and reflect and to not forget the pain that others have experienced, especially those who lost their life without reason – their execution driven by irreverence and violence toward persons of color. As I observe these atrocities committed toward others that look like me, I wonder if something similar could ever happen to me.

My First Dream – In Memory of My Dad

I shared earlier that after my dad passed, I was hoping to dream about him because I missed him so much.  My dad’s passing was very tough emotionally.  I experienced different grieving phases – a roller coaster of ups and downs.  It felt unbearable when I was going through the first days, weeks, and months.

Even many months after his passing I would still get very sad when I thought about him or saw him in pictures, especially the one in my living room taken during the 50th wedding anniversary of my parents.  This particular picture is very dear to me, but also brought the most melancholy.  It made me sad – still does – to remember that my dad only exists through memories and pictures.

Slowly things got better.  Time helps.  It is true.  Sadness never abandoned me, but I was able to control my emotions and tears while looking at him and remembering his love through the pictures.

“While you are grieving, when you are feeling the deep pain of losing a loved one, you don’t believe that time will actually help.  But time helps… It is true.”   –IS

I had an obsessive desire to dream about him.  I wanted to see him again.  I knew I could only do that in my dreams.  The desire grew stronger and stronger with time.  I would think about this before going to bed.  I would talk myself to sleep while thinking about my dad.  Frustration grew stronger as my dream never materialized.  Maybe I had dreams but those were elusive as my consciousness awoke every morning.  My dad was on my thoughts all the time and I couldn’t understand how could I not dream about him? Regardless of how much my dad overwhelmed my thoughts, he was not part of my dreams.  The awareness of a dream never happened.  The story never changed until after eight months to the exact day of his passing.

Suddenly my excitement was overcome by tears, as my husband’s alarm clock went off.  My husband got out of bed and went to the bathroom to take a shower – his normal morning routine.  I stayed in bed that morning, as I was trying to get a bit more sleep and let myself drift back to the dream.  Time was suddenly frozen – seconds, minutes, became eternal.  My husband came back to the room to wake me up.  As my consciousness awoke, I realized that I had seen him.  It happened. I desperately tried to go back to sleep again, the dream was gone.  I felt such happiness and sadness at the same time.  I was happy to see my dad, but sad again as I realized that he was gone from my life.  Tears rushed in.  As I woke up, I rushed to catch the glimpses of the dream, desperately trying to put the pieces together – collecting and deciphering the tangled but delicate threads of thoughts that were populating my awakening consciousness.  It worked.  I was able to re-build my wonderful and only dream.

The location of the dream was hard to pinpoint.  It started as a house.  Maybe my parents’ house?   The first person that appeared in the house was the lady who took care of my mom after my dad passed.  She was dusting some shelves and I remembered being very hot – typical heat in Puerto Rico.  The caretaker was wearing a light overcoat opened in the front, all buttons undone.  I commented to her that there was no one else in the house so she should feel free to take the overcoat off, as it was so hot.  Then the house slowly morphed into a wrought iron arbor framing a green field in front of a forest.  I floated to the arbor.  The caretaker was still in the house and then my sister came in the picture.  I was concerned – distressed – as I was asking them about the whereabouts of my dad.

“We have been in the house for several days and I have not seen my dad,” I almost cried in desperation.

But no one else seemed to share my concern.  I couldn’t understand why they were not worried about my dad, as he was missing.

Then my dad suddenly appeared in the field and walked toward the arbor.  My grandpa passed by in the corner of my eye.  My dad was young, maybe in his mid 30’s.  His hair was black and he was as handsome as ever, with his usual perfectly trimmed mustache that he carried all his life.  I recognized his clothes – maybe from memories of old pictures that I have seen growing up.  His clothes matched the era – definitely the 60’s – striped loose brown pants with a loose short-sleeved buttoned shirt.  Everything moved slowly, like in a dream.  There was a mesmerizing calmness that permeated the air.  As the picture of my dad became clearer, he stopped in the middle of the field and started throwing a baseball toward the forest.  There was no one catching or returning the ball, but somehow he kept repeating his pitches – first some high balls and then some low ones.  After several throws he then approached the arbor and I looked into his eyes.  No words were exchanged.  I was looking at him but it was like there was nobody there.  His dark eyes uttered peacefulness.  He sat down on one of the benches inside the arbor.  Then a little brown-haired girl emerged on the bench across from my dad.  She was wearing a white cotton dress with eyelets and ruffle details.  As she leaned on the arbor bench she playfully looked at my dad.  She shared my dad’s eyes.  They were looking at each other communicating through their eyes.

I was the little girl and I found my dad.  The peace spoke of eternity.  I then slowly walked away, knowing that I finally found him and he was alright.  He was not lost.  He was there but also with me.  His eyes told me so and I saw him with my own eyes.  The memory ended.

I was so happy the day I dreamed about my dad.  I smiled for days.  I tried to repeat the dream but it was not meant to be.  There was no need.  I felt my dad’s presence.  I saw that he was in a beautiful place.  I know I will see him again…someday.  And every time I feel sad, I can go back to the serenity of my dream.

My dad passed three years ago.  As I remember him, it brings comfort to remember my dream.

“Dreams carry us through difficult times – never give up on your dreams.” — IS