D IS FOR DREAM

Typically, it went like this:

There was a room in my house that I had somehow forgotten existed. I would be bustling around doing chores by myself or sometimes company would be over. Often the company was my parents. It never mattered which would be the case. What was important was that I rediscovered the room. I would stumble upon it on my own or when my parents would point to the ceiling and ask what that square spot was that was there. I would look up and be filled with dread. It had the appearance of an attic entrance. And I would gasp. The room. That room. How could I have forgotten about it?

I would pull down on the small chain, the square portion of the ceiling would open, and a set of steps would unfold. As I very slowly ascended the stairs, my stomach would tighten. I would remember that I had left living things in there, yet I had neglected the room for so long. Sometimes I would remember that I had fish in a tank in there, and I would panic at the thought they had gone months without food and would surely be dead. Other times, it would be plants I had left unwatered for weeks and weeks on end. My guilt and fear would be tremendous and cause my feet to feel heavier with each step I took. By the time I reached the very top step and was ready to look inside, I would be extremely agitated and frightened by what I expected to find. No one ever joined me walking up those stairs. I was always alone.

And then, I would fearfully take my first glance inside. Ohhhhh, it was a beautiful room. Absolutely gorgeous. The sofa and overstuffed chair had a rich floral fabric. The coffee table and end tables were of good wood and in perfect condition. The knickknacks on them were tasteful and displayed just so. Plants were thriving. The fish were swimming happily in their tank. There was an immaculate kitchen located just behind the sofa. The appliances were seemingly new and the latest models. A charming table was off to the side of the kitchen; placemats and a floral arrangement were carefully arranged atop it. Further investigation revealed a small bathroom just behind a door on the opposite side of the room. It, too, was lavishly decorated and clean.

As I took in the sight of this gorgeous room, I felt a sadness that such beauty could be forgotten by me. How in the world could I have let a room this lovely go vacant? More importantly, how could it have escaped from my mind? What was wrong with me that I could completely fail to remember that this room existed in my own home?

It was always at that point when I would awaken. I would feel out of sorts. Sick inside. Sad, too. My mind would play the dream over and over trying to make sense of it. This recurring dream had been taking place for years. I did not have it every nite. I might go a month without it visiting me in my sleep. And then it would reappear. Sometimes frequently. There were times the room was not the one I described here. It might be a forgotten room off the main portion of the basement and not nearly as attractive. But, the majority of times, it was THAT beautiful room. And all of the times, my reactions in the dream were the same, and my reactions when I would awaken would be the same.

It bothered me a lot that I could not interpret that dream. It simply did not make sense to me. Usually, I can identify some trigger or connection in my real world that allows me to understand my dreams. I dream a lot. Every nite. Even during the occasional naps I take, I dream. I remember them, too. Always. I hated that this recurring dream would not stop, and I despised how it made me feel for an entire day after having had it.

I happened to mention it to a psychologist friend of mine (the late friend who gave me the shadow box in my previous photo tag journal entry). John was very interested in the particulars of the dream. He had attended a seminar in Boston, which dealt exclusively with dreams and their hidden meanings. He said he had learned so much from it. He even knew of an "exercise" the dreamer could do to help uncover the message of the dream, along with the assistance of a psychologist. He asked me if I wanted to give it a try. I jumped at the opportunity. I felt if I knew what it meant, then perhaps it would no longer haunt me during sleep and waking hours.

It has been several years since we analyzed that dream. At the moment, I cannot recall all of the particulars of the exercise he had me perform. I do know I would cry (!) when I would close my eyes and remember everything I could, in detail, about the dream. I also was told to focus on the specific version of the dream that happened the most frequently~that of the beautiful room, as opposed to the very infrequent version of a basement room. Every single thing ranging from what I saw in my dream to my feelings during it and after awakening, plus the ones I was experiencing right then while thinking about it, I was instructed to write down. That was a critical part. Recording it on paper.

I did everything I was asked to do. I wrote. I wrote through tears. I wrote through agitation. I got a clear glass jar and one by one, when directed, put the objects inside it that I was told to place there. Five stones and a piece of ribbon. The ribbon was the final object to go into the jar. With that came the interpretation. John had been able to guess fairly early on what it meant, but he was not 100% certain. He told me it was important that I come up with my own ideas during the process, and then we would discuss them. He also informed me that I had the most complex and vivid dream of anyone he had ever helped. ::laugh:: Figures. He said he would love to pick my brain sometime!

I kept that jar. It sits on a shelf inside the glass cupboard of the hutch on this desk. Beneath it is a piece of paper. The final jotting of emotions and thoughts I had when I closed my eyes to relive the dream. The summary of what I believed the dream meant.

This is what it says:

"7/31/02~Wednesday

Shocked, forgotten, abandoned, room in home, relief

Sad, tears, Daddy's illness a shock? Did I feel abandoned & forgotten? cried

Relief that I was ok?

The room is part of me and it didn't change even though I didn't take care of me. Relief knowing that. Like I put a part of me on hold for so long b/c of Daddy. cried

Sick feeling will be dead going in there."

John and I discussed it then. Yes, I was on the money with my guess as to the meaning. My fear of something living being found dead when I went into the forgotten room signified my apprehension that one day I would walk inside Daddy's room at the nursing home to find him dead. (He did pass away there on January 6, 2002, but I was with him when he passed.) I had done nothing for myself for the six years of Daddy's illness. I did for everyone except myself. And John felt I had all sorts of beautiful things inside me that I kept tucked away in a "room" during that time and possibly even in the years preceding Daddy's illness. Forgotten. Abandoned. He wanted me to let them out. He said it was long past time for me to be completely me.

And that shadow box filled with miniature artist's paints, apron, easel, and paintings soon arrived in the mail for me. A gift from John...my dream solver.

I have never had that dream again since the discovery of its meaning.

"Leave me to lay, but touch me deep, I don't sleep, I dream." ~From the song I Don't Sleep, I Dream by R.E.M.