Friday, February 14, 2014
I dreamed about a love story just before waking today. The details are fading now, but there were two sisters and one man. He was remarkable. Strong, handsome, caring, spiritual, funny, absolutely perfect. In the end, he dies. The dream ended like a movie, with the credits running. The title of the dream/movie: Yearning. I woke up with that word in my head.
It was an interesting wee hours dream for Valentine's Day. It left me feeling very melancholy. Perfect love has died. Two sisters are heartbroken. Traditional dream interpretation tells me that the three are aspects of myself.
My energy is returning. I can lift Daniel again. I can eat just about everything, after a long period of only tolerating bland food. The depression is still lingering, though. I read once that depression is the impression left by fear. I was out of my mind with cancer-fueled fear and worry throughout November, December and January. It's going to take awhile to bounce back, and maybe I will be a different me when I land. Will my sister-self emerge, wounded but walking? Has my masculine side withered? I've always held it together, but now...
One of my students said to me today, "You're not the same since you came back." I asked how I'm different, and she said I'm not as cool. I'll second that. Sometimes the blues are uncool.
There are things to be grateful for. I'm thankful that I have insurance that paid for the majority of my surgery and hospital costs. Still, my 20% is raining on my plans for paying property and income taxes this year. I think financial fear ranks right up there with health scares. I also want to take Daniel to Austin, Texas this summer for a communication camp that uses the Rapid Prompting Method. It's not free, however, and I may not be able to make this happen. Do I put down a non-refundable deposit next month and trust that the rest will come? I am unsure. I was so excited about it just a few months ago.
A newsletter came yesterday from a holistic doctor in my area. She writes about the necessity of hope in regaining health. I know this to be true. Without a sense of hope and expectation, life feels flat. I've been fortunate enough to have always been able to rustle up some hope for the future. Lately, not so much. All I can do is try to be hopeful that I'll regain hope. I miss my optimism.
Last night in the middle of journaling about my sense of broken dreams, I did a gratitude list. Midway through the list of disappointments I was writing down, I realized I needed to switch gears. Next to the negatives about money and loneliness, were my list of things that are good. I've also been saying 40 day prayers since the school year began. From Jesus' 40 days in the desert, 40 days of rain for Noah, to the Israelites 40 years of wandering in the wilderness, this number is often in the spotlight. I'm putting my energy out there and affirming that specific things in my life are going to get better.
I see the results. My first prayer was focused on finding the right school/people/program/community for Daniel and our family. I always end the prayer with the caveat "according to Thy Will", because I know that I'm not in the know about all the options out there, and I might not have even conceived of the best for us, or what's needed for our growth. Not long into the prayer, our physical therapist told me that she's interested in a therapy school similar to the one in the corners of my mind. She connected me with a family who are also interested. Last week our caregiver went on an interview and met a mom who uses the Rapid Prompting Method that I've been researching and learning. I have her number.
There are interesting, positive connections happening, but still my hopes are not high. Not in this moment, anyway. To say they are just to avoid dark feelings would not be authentic, and wouldn't force a shift in my overall sense of well-being. I'm open to unexpected good. I want to believe. I'm willing for a change to come. I guess in times like these, that's all I can hope for.