Friday, November 11, 2011
As much as I try to be rational, to think life is finite and dying is not the worst thing that can happen to you, my unconscious seems to be rebelling. Until recently I could sleep and not dream of my loss. But now I've been waking up with tear-crusted eyes. Last night I dreamed I had a fight with my mother, who's also not alive. She was blaming me for not cleaning her house (not something she would do) and I was really upset and told her she never taught me how to clean a house. But furthermore I was upset that we were arguing about something so stupid and I wanted to tell her that none of this matters now that my son is dead. This mirrors a fight I had with my son three weeks before he died, except I was the child now. He blamed me for not giving him guidance and inspiration. Then he took it back, but I know he meant it. I will always regret not saying more than I did then. Though I did tell him I loved him more than anything, I never told him how proud I am to be his mother and how sorry I am that he's had to struggle so much. (Does anyone ever do that?) But that's not why I cry now. I simply miss him. My life doesn't make sense without him.