The following is a dream I had on Friday, October 04, 2002, 4:45 p.m.
I just had the weirdest dream. I took a nap after work, as is usual lately, and when I woke up I was crying. The reason I was crying is because of what happened in the dream...
I had been seated at one of those picnic style tables at an establishment very similar to a Shakey’s Pizza Parlor when I observed a woman at the refreshment counter. She appeared to be an older lady, very pretty, makeup applied beautifully, but so unused to smiling that she had wrinkle frown lines. While I watched, a sweet little boy and girl were running around, appearing to be maybe 5 or 6 years old. The lady was apparently ‘Grandma’ to the two, who had been calling out to her while running, albeit a young Grandma appearing to me to be only in her 50’s or so.
Grandma yelled at the little girl, who was not doing anything ‘bad’ per se, just being an energetic little one, and said some things along the lines of ‘You worthless thing, stop that running around,’ and more mean and nasty sayings. I stared at her; I couldn’t help myself. Her tone was not joking; she was severe, terse. She saw me looking at her and said, “What?!?” I rose, and I walked towards her. When I stood up, she saw me and started setting down her things atop the counter. The actions were clearly like someone accustomed to a physical confrontation; setting down her purse, taking her keys, papers, etcetera out of her hands – freeing her hands for whatever might transpire after that.
I kept walking towards her, all the while with her saying things like “Do you have something to say to me? What is your problem?” I stepped up to her, still having said nothing, and looking directly into her eyes I said, “Why are you doing this? You should be looking that little girl in the eyes saying things like ‘When I look at you, the sunshine that comes out of your eyes blinds me, I love you so much,’ not the mean and nasty things you’re saying now.” We both started to cry, as she said back to me, “But I don’t know how... this is all that she knows. I was like this to her mom; her mom is like that to her. What am I supposed to do?” Still crying, I said, “You have the power to break the cycle, walk over there and hug her, tell her that you love her – see where it goes from there.”
Grandma walked from me to her granddaughter who had stopped running and was sitting in the play area in a corner. Smiling, the Grandma went to the girl, went to her knees, and told her what I had told her to say; the ‘sunshine comment,’ and that she loved her. It made me so happy to see that I had made a difference in that lady’s actions towards the little girl. I left the establishment with an image of the three playing together, giggling and laughing.
I woke up crying, confused; what does it mean? A close friend believes that this was my brother and me. I lived with my brother the longest of any of my siblings, so is this an image of him? Is this an image of my mother, even though the lady appears like a grandmother to the little girl? Does this mean I am still a little girl inside and need that motherly relationship to grow? These are all just thoughts.
It does seem sort of significant to me that I had just finished reading and watching a video about Medea – a roman poem about a woman scorned by her husband who kills their two children in order to cause pain and suffering to her ex-husband. After watching the play, I said to a good friend that Medea as portrayed reminded me of my mother: tragically scheming, evil, yet highly intelligent -- intelligent enough to plot and avenge herself.
My friend was slightly taken aback, as most people are when she realized that even though we have been friends for a couple of years, and she knew that I have not really spoken to or dealt with my mother in almost 9 years, that if Medea’s actions reminded me of my mother that that has to be significantly greater than ‘just not speaking to her.’ I do not know how to better clarify this thought. I guess what I mean to say here is that I almost casually say I don’t talk to my Mom, so it makes that seem less significant to people until they glean some more details from me.
It may take a few years, but after the many different conversations that occur after a year or so between us, when people hear of an event here, a conversation there, that transpired between my mom and me, when they add it all up apparently it is unsettling to them. Never mind how unsettling it has been for me. My personal ‘favorite,’ and please note the sarcasm in this, is when my mother emailed me after the first three years had passed by to say that she had seen me getting arrested on the TV show “Cops,” and while she was sad to see me get arrested, that she was happy that of the group of 4 or 5 of us, that I was the only one who was ‘just’ drunk and not high on drugs. Now, as a parent, I would be happy that my son or daughter was not high either, but I was not then, nor have I ever been arrested. I have never done drugs, and alcohol consumption has been moderate. More importantly, however, I have never been on “Cops.”
