![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
10 Jan 2003
So many people posting about dreams lately, I am finally remembering to record this oddity.
For the three days this week in which I've been so sick I've hardly been able to think, I've had a recurrent element in my dreams: my dad. I don't usually dream of him, so this was rare enough; but also odd was that these dreams were all happy. Sunshiny twinkly-eyes happy. They were centered around being together, in some of them as a family, in some - just the two of us. The feeling matched exactly the happiest memories I have of him, those rare occasions on which we'd be laughing incessantly and lightly, feeling no burden of any kind.
One of the dreams involved him visiting me in Boston, something he never did get to do. We walked down some red-brick steps somewhere in downtown (a mishmash of buildings and streets I know from real life), and they were slippery from all the ice on them, so I was warning him about being careful. There was a gorgeous sunset, with big bumpy blue-red-orange clouds and skies.
Another dream was in New York City, we were spending New Year's there, he and I and mom. We weren't anywhere I would recognize from real life, but I know we were in one of those rare places in Manhattan where it's just a bunch of residential buildings and an oddly-shaped yard. Or maybe I transplanted a bit of Rome in there. It was late afternoon, and we were idly wandering towards uptown, trying unsuccessfully to catch a cab. Last thing I remember from that one is laughing hard at something.
I don't remember the third (actually, second of three) night's dream, but he was in it too. I am about as agnostic as it gets with regard to what happens after death; but I did feel his presence, an attempt to make laughter heal, even if only in my sleep. What does anything else matter? It felt tangible, and is now a memory like any other.
For the three days this week in which I've been so sick I've hardly been able to think, I've had a recurrent element in my dreams: my dad. I don't usually dream of him, so this was rare enough; but also odd was that these dreams were all happy. Sunshiny twinkly-eyes happy. They were centered around being together, in some of them as a family, in some - just the two of us. The feeling matched exactly the happiest memories I have of him, those rare occasions on which we'd be laughing incessantly and lightly, feeling no burden of any kind.
One of the dreams involved him visiting me in Boston, something he never did get to do. We walked down some red-brick steps somewhere in downtown (a mishmash of buildings and streets I know from real life), and they were slippery from all the ice on them, so I was warning him about being careful. There was a gorgeous sunset, with big bumpy blue-red-orange clouds and skies.
Another dream was in New York City, we were spending New Year's there, he and I and mom. We weren't anywhere I would recognize from real life, but I know we were in one of those rare places in Manhattan where it's just a bunch of residential buildings and an oddly-shaped yard. Or maybe I transplanted a bit of Rome in there. It was late afternoon, and we were idly wandering towards uptown, trying unsuccessfully to catch a cab. Last thing I remember from that one is laughing hard at something.
I don't remember the third (actually, second of three) night's dream, but he was in it too. I am about as agnostic as it gets with regard to what happens after death; but I did feel his presence, an attempt to make laughter heal, even if only in my sleep. What does anything else matter? It felt tangible, and is now a memory like any other.
So many people posting about dreams lately, I am finally remembering to record this oddity.
For the three days this week in which I've been so sick I've hardly been able to think, I've had a recurrent element in my dreams: my dad. I don't usually dream of him, so this was rare enough; but also odd was that these dreams were all happy. Sunshiny twinkly-eyes happy. They were centered around being together, in some of them as a family, in some - just the two of us. The feeling matched exactly the happiest memories I have of him, those rare occasions on which we'd be laughing incessantly and lightly, feeling no burden of any kind.
One of the dreams involved him visiting me in Boston, something he never did get to do. We walked down some red-brick steps somewhere in downtown (a mishmash of buildings and streets I know from real life), and they were slippery from all the ice on them, so I was warning him about being careful. There was a gorgeous sunset, with big bumpy blue-red-orange clouds and skies.
Another dream was in New York City, we were spending New Year's there, he and I and mom. We weren't anywhere I would recognize from real life, but I know we were in one of those rare places in Manhattan where it's just a bunch of residential buildings and an oddly-shaped yard. Or maybe I transplanted a bit of Rome in there. It was late afternoon, and we were idly wandering towards uptown, trying unsuccessfully to catch a cab. Last thing I remember from that one is laughing hard at something.
I don't remember the third (actually, second of three) night's dream, but he was in it too. I am about as agnostic as it gets with regard to what happens after death; but I did feel his presence, an attempt to make laughter heal, even if only in my sleep. What does anything else matter? It felt tangible, and is now a memory like any other.
For the three days this week in which I've been so sick I've hardly been able to think, I've had a recurrent element in my dreams: my dad. I don't usually dream of him, so this was rare enough; but also odd was that these dreams were all happy. Sunshiny twinkly-eyes happy. They were centered around being together, in some of them as a family, in some - just the two of us. The feeling matched exactly the happiest memories I have of him, those rare occasions on which we'd be laughing incessantly and lightly, feeling no burden of any kind.
One of the dreams involved him visiting me in Boston, something he never did get to do. We walked down some red-brick steps somewhere in downtown (a mishmash of buildings and streets I know from real life), and they were slippery from all the ice on them, so I was warning him about being careful. There was a gorgeous sunset, with big bumpy blue-red-orange clouds and skies.
Another dream was in New York City, we were spending New Year's there, he and I and mom. We weren't anywhere I would recognize from real life, but I know we were in one of those rare places in Manhattan where it's just a bunch of residential buildings and an oddly-shaped yard. Or maybe I transplanted a bit of Rome in there. It was late afternoon, and we were idly wandering towards uptown, trying unsuccessfully to catch a cab. Last thing I remember from that one is laughing hard at something.
I don't remember the third (actually, second of three) night's dream, but he was in it too. I am about as agnostic as it gets with regard to what happens after death; but I did feel his presence, an attempt to make laughter heal, even if only in my sleep. What does anything else matter? It felt tangible, and is now a memory like any other.