Dreaming

It was a pleasant enough dream. I was a teenager living with Dad and Mom and we were getting used to our new home. Mom and I were upstairs in her bedroom talking. I heard Dad come in the front door and leaned over the railing and saw him.

I ran down the stairs and stayed hidden from him as I watched and took in the sight of him. He was an attractive man. His thick, wavy dark hair was styled nicely and looked much like Dean Martin, the entertainer. His clothes were all sharply pressed. The dark browns looked nice on him. The strange part was the Bermuda dress shorts. It was winter and it was cold outside.

He was returning from shopping for various materials to make some sort of home improvement. He was at the wet bar making a cocktail for himself. The beveled crystal whiskey glass held the lovely colored amber liquid. There were ice cubes. I loved the sound they made when they hit each other and clinked against the glass.

I decided to be a prankster and yelled out to Mom, “Help! Help! Mom, help me, there’s a man downstairs! Call the police, he has on shorts!” I thought that was hilarious. Mom didn’t enjoy the humor because she didn’t hear me. I called out a few more times, but she never heard me.

I needed to use the bathroom, but Dad was in there. Instead of going upstairs, I waited. I walked around downstairs and thought about where an architect could have put another bathroom. When the room was free, I went in and was surprised to see the seat up and the toilet was not flushed. There was vomit in the bowl. Dad was sick.

I rushed out to find him. He was in the kitchen and standing by the sink with his drink in hand. I asked about him being sick. He explained it must be a result of the physical activity of carrying in the supplies and the alcohol. He was of course implying the ill-effects of having diabetes.

My dream started to morph into a half-dream state of consciousness. I knew I was dreaming, and I was analyzing my own dream. I was aware my subconscious had weaved in many key points from my life with recent happenings from the days before. 

The new home, the more upscale lifestyle, the nice clothes, the drinking, and me being a teenager were all correct except for the wife. Mom had been Dad’s first wife. After their divorce, I moved in with Dad and Jean to start a new life together with them. Mom had always been a stay-at-home wife and mother; we had lived a more frugal lifestyle. There was no drinking. There were more children. 

I understood, after over 50 years, my mind was giving me a dream life of having two loving parents together without the upheaval of divorce. Deep-seated maybe, but also a scene from a recently watched show on TV only hours before I had fallen asleep. The scene was of the daughter in the study with her father. The same drink sat on the desk next to him. She had only just learned her parents were planning to divorce. He was asking her to move away with him, to go to college in another country,  and start a new life with him. She was upset and left the room. It was a flashback for her, in the same era of time my family was going through our changes. 

Mom couldn’t hear me because she in fact had been hard-of-hearing all my life. She wore a hearing aid. Two days ago, I watched a short video where someone I know was on social media and talking about the merits of wearing hearing aids. Like Mom, he had worn hearing aids the majority of his life. 

Dad did have Type II diabetes, but that would happen to him years later in his old age and after Jean’s death. The cascading chain of effects from the disease and especially from the prescribed medications would be what ended him and made his sweet and loving third wife a widow.

That aspect of my dream came from my continual attention to  my own good health and maintenance. The day before, my daughter and I had engaged in an animated discussion about health. We both put a great deal of focus on the importance of good health. We continue to learn what we can about the ill-effects of poor eating habits and lifestyle choices. Our conversation had riled each of us, as we talked about people in general and loved ones in particular, who were suffering preventable illnesses. 

In my half-dream state I was thinking how I would call Dad after breakfast and have our daily morning coffee phone chat.

Then I awoke. 

I was smiling as I thought about calling Dad. Then I was, wait, what, where am I? Dad has been dead over 12 years. That too was a scene in the same watched program. The daughter had dreamed about her father, awoke, and was a bit disorientated to time and place. Her father, too, was dead.

I don’t think each scene of what I saw had independently influenced my dream. I believe the conscious mind is always on the alert for pertinent information to process for our well-being. After all, those were only a few scenes out of hundreds of thousands throughout my day. My subconscious mind had accepted them as worthy material to help me process old and new concerns of mine. 

Apparently, there are still lifelong traces of hurts: my mother not hearing me, my parents’ divorce, not enough nice bathrooms. 

There are current pains too. The constant awareness of preventable illnesses and deaths that I see around us and experience without let up. What can I do about that? How can I help? Perhaps, this is my notice to the World of my intention to bring awareness, caring, and some resolve. We’ll see.

(To be continued.)

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