Weeding

In the time that I have neglected this blog, I have seen spectacular highs (we got married) and harsh lows (family, friends - weeding through the diseased, emotionally).
Late January, my Guy and I said "I do" and we've been loving the days a little more genuinely since. We also do worry a little more too. Having both lost close loved ones at young ages we are both, understandably, becoming more aware of our life spans. I finally convinced him to get to a doctor (after about 15 years) and have a physical. High cholesterol. And so we are mapping out our new lifestyle and diet. It seems morbid, I guess, that a newlywed thinks of death, but really the closer we get the more it haunts me and I tease him that if one of us dies the other should commit suicide soon after. The idea of my life without him is unbearable. It's been a great (nearly) two years with him, and it seems to get better and better as we grow closer and become best friends forever.
And while we've been weeding through our habits that don't promise us silver hair and bingo, I've been weeding through people. It's deflating. It makes me weak with hurt, but it's self-preservation, I am believing. I have family members and friends who don't seem to know how to perform the opposite end of a relationship, and rather than list that kind of stuff - that's it: if you can't be good to the people around you, I don't want to be around you.

And then this is a "dream blog" --- no big surprise I dreamed of death quite a bit. Well, with my sister I actually have been dreaming her alive. Her death, a year and a half ago, is still one of my darkest spots in this life. It hurts most because I have completely lost my faith in the last few years and thinking that I won't ever again see her face in the flesh, or hear her voice, or mischievous laugh knocks my insides out; I feel empty and very sad. In the dreams I have she is alive again and I spend my time worrying about waking, because I know I am dreaming and that the morning only will rob me of this temporary time with her.
Two nights ago I had a dream that my father died. I was inconsolable, eyes swollen big with grief and my voice shattered. The dream began that our family was holding a picnic/festival of sorts behind a big brick building at the top of a hill. I was busy getting lost on a fire escape, and surveying the scene while the others were laughing and picnic-ing. I caught sight of my Dad and automatically longed to walk with him. He was with his wife and they were wandering around, unaware of my watchful eye. And then poof: he was dead. And my siblings and I were going through a photo album I had put together where many of the photos had our father, and various family and friends, dressing up in clothing/costumes from previous decades. We stared longingly. I was to write and read his eulogy and when I rose and approached the podium I could barely breathe and heavy tears were riding the rims of my eyes, and in real life I woke a little and pressed my hand to the wet at my eyes and on the pillow. I awoke fully at that point and lay in bed sobbing softly.
Then I sprung from bed, dialed my Dad's number and left him a voicemail. He called back, alive. I didn't tell him of my dream.