No Great Revelation Here

My blogger friend Hal had a very interesting piece recently about dreams. He said that he viewed his dreams about his wife and son as gifts. His wife and son are very much alive but he has to be away from them from time to time.

Hal's piece got me to thinking. This is the time of year that my mother died, in the fall, of 1996. I don't make a big deal about the anniversary of her death. This year I did not even think of it until the day was almost over. But when the fall season comes I do tend to remember the circumstances surrounding her passing and the months of suffering she endured.

For a long time after her death I would have very vivid dreams about her. In those dreams she was always sick. I would wake up sad because, even though I was 39 years old when she died and I had a lifetime of "healthy" memories of her, I was beginning to always think of her as sick. Of course I could remember her as a very well person but for some reason the "sick" memories were very much trumping the "well" ones. I did not want to remember her only in that way.

I cannot remember exactly when it happened, but eventually I began to dream about her the way I wanted to remember her -- as the compassionate, funny and caring mother and person that she was, and not sick. Although I would awake from those dreams and have a quick twinge of sadness as I remembered she was no longer with me, within minutes I would feel extremely comforted. And the dreams made me feel as if she were right there with me.

My dad died nearly ten years later, in 2006. His death was sudden, so I did not have the dreams of him being sick.

Strange thing was, I almost immediately began to have dreams about both of them. I still do. I guess I average several dreams per month about them. Often they are in the house where I grew up (which we sold after Dad died); sometimes I am a child again in the dreams.

I almost always awake from these dreams with a great sense of comfort and peace. Although I still miss both of them very much, in a very real sense I feel as if they are with me when I have these dreams.

And I believe I might have hit on something here, thanks in part to Hal's recent blog which got me to thinking about all of this. I think I have come to realize that yes, they are in fact with me in these dreams.

But not just in the dreams. They continue to live because all they did for me and everything they ever said to me are so much a part of me. I could no more not have them with me than not have my limbs or any other part of my body. They are a part of me and they go with me wherever I go; it is just that simple.

I know this is no great revelation but, just as I believe the dreams are gifts, I believe God continues to comfort me. I believe, no matter what age we are, we become different people when we lose a parent. Although we learn to live with it and accept it, I am not sure we ever really stop grieving the loss. And to deal with that in a healthy way, there has to be some comfort, some assurance.

And these dreams, as well as my good thoughts and memories, continue to comfort me and make me feel a very real presence. Wow.

(Thanks, Hal).

Circles

Today as Wife and I were cleaning up in the garage and basement -- which inevitably leads to finding forgotten relics of our 24 years of marriage and even before -- I kept thinking about how life really is a circle and after just a little while, things start to repeat themselves.

We cried buckets of tears just a few years ago when Older Son graduated from high school and went to college. Now he lives with us again and a lot of his stuff is filling the garage and basement. He will leave again at some point and we will see him and his stuff leave again (and, if God is merciful, the stuff won't come back).

He and his younger sister and brother will probably marry someday and make Wife and me grandparents. And they -- and we, God willing -- will start anew a process that will be just one more part of a bigger circle.

And all of these thoughts made me think of my favorite song by the incomparable Harry Chapin, probably best known for his song, "The Cat's In the Cradle." The song I thought of today, though, was one of his lesser known titled, simply, "Circles." Here are the words:


(CHORUS): All my life's a circle, Sunrise and sundown. Moon rolls thru the nighttime till the daybreak comes around. All my life's a circle, but I can't tell you why. Seasons spinning round again, the years keep rollin' by.

It seems like I've been here before, I can't remember when. But I have this funny feeling that we'll all be together again.
No straight lines make up my life and all my roads have bends. There's no clear-cut beginnings and so far no dead-ends.

(REPEAT CHORUS)

I found you a thousand times, I guess you done the same. But then we lose each other, it's like a children's game.
As I find you here again, a thought runs through my mind. Our love is like a circle, let's go 'round one more time.

(REPEAT CHORUS)

I would not begin to try to anazlyze what all this means but I love the line that says, "No clear lines make up my life, all my roads have bends." This just has to mean that, even though we might have a clear plan for what we think might happen in life, the unexpected is no doubt going to come along and throw us the inevitable curve. It has happened thousands of times to me already and will no doubt happen again and again.

And how we deal with the unexpected, I suppose, says a lot about who we are and the kind of stuff of which we are made. There may not be a great deal of depth in the words of this song, but I think a philosophy of "Let's go 'round one more time" would serve us all well as we move toward completion of the circle.