Today I am thankful for my dearly departed colleague, Richard.
I think he cured me yet again but wish he didn't have to die to do it.
Richard probably saved my life twice in the two years we knew each other.
I'm highly allergic to a lot of things.
One time, I had to clean out a dirty vehicle with a filthy dog and a ton of used hypodermic needles. Richard noticed that I started to swell so he gave me Benadryl.
Yeah, I'm allergic to dogs and dust.
There was this time I bought a smoothie that had banana in it. Yep, I'm highly allergic to bananas. Being the great nurse he was, he gave me two pink pills that kept me breathing.
For several months, I had dreams of a tall man burned to death in the mountains. When I learned an old friend lived up there, who just happened to be tall and have the same color of eyes, I freaked out to the point of reaching out to see if he were okay.
He's okay.
About two months after the dreams became persistent, Richard self-immolated up in the mountains.
The dreams continued nightly until his body was identified three weeks after his death. I cried my heart out on my way to work, on my way home from work, in the bathroom at work and when I tried to sleep.
In fact, I'll find myself reminiscing about him at work before realizing he's gone. Then I come home and cry.
After a couple of weeks of bawling my eyes out, the dreams stopped.
Richard and I worked with a beautiful nurse. She's awesome. She reads everything. I had a tumor in my liver and had a little pain at work (well, a lot of pain). I told her. Within days the entire tumor was gone as per an ultrasound.
I figured she prayed for me. Sure enough, she did.
She often gives me the titles of books that she thinks will help me in my studies.
Today we talked about trauma. She said that people will dream of childhood traumas until they resolve them.
In the dreams of Richard, I could smell the burned hair and flesh. I know what it smelled like because at the age of five or six, I was witness to a fire where a little old lady's home burned down. Every time I'm in the area, I drive past what used to be her porch and the stairs that led to it. The stairs now lead to a parking lot of a warehouse.
I remember that. I remember the ash in the air. I remember the smell. I remember my future step-father and uncle fighting the fire.
I'm going to buy the book she gleaned that information from.
I wonder if crying over Richard helped me process the trauma of that fire.
It would have been better if he were still here. I wouldn't mind the dreams so much if no one actually died.
*****
Now, there are other nightmares. No one dies.
The dreams are either about forbidden stuff that would possibly hurt a lot of people.
Or of my being super-embarrassed.
Some silly old lady ran out of bay leaves.
Bay leaves when placed under your pillow are supposed to give you dreams of your future lover.
I've found that when there are bay leaves under my pillow - I have NO DREAMS (meaning no nightmares).
Sleep is wonderful.
But -
I'm out of bay leaves.
There was a dream.
In this dream, a certain individual (who will go undescribed) visits my home unannounced.
My home is filthy.
The only thing in my fridge to drink is kombucha.
I wake up and go to work only to go home and find that my house is filthy and that there is a lot of broccoli and kombucha in the fridge.
That's a nightmare of a different sort.
No one died -
well, I possibly died of embarrassment.
I wonder if Penzey's Spices is open on Sunday?
I need bay leaves now.
Sigh -
Maybe I should just stay home and clean my house.
May all your dreams be sweet and may the best ones come true,
S.