Dreaming of Mom

Mom 2010I dreamt that my mother was alive twice in the past month; confused both times, not understanding that time had passed for her. Both times they were very vivid dreams. Last night, she was rattled but, as was her wont, she would not admit that something was wrong. Instead, what is clear, was that after her initial off kilter moment, she turned to her slow burn anger. I know she said something along the lines that when she talks to [the executor of her late brother’s will] that she would “demand the rest of the money he left me!” The executor “nickel-and-dimed” her (her words) and my other late uncle (who was also allocated money in a trust fund), demanding itemized accounts of what they wanted the money for. He may not know it, but it was galling to her to have to do that: it made her feel like she was begging for it, and it left a bitter feeling for this person.

Obviously, my subconscious was working out my personal frustration and fears over my finances. That was one level, a level I am working on to correct, in many different ways.

The other thing, the one that surprises me most, is how much I miss my mom.

Most of you will probably go “Oh, that’s natural. Of course you miss  your mother.”

Ours was not an easy relationship, and it grew more strained as the years passed. The more she had to rely on me, the more she was angry/depressed, which is understandable. Yet, it was also hard to deal with, on both our ends. We got on each others nerves way too often, and we communicated on completely different wavelengths: she wanted to tell me things; I wanted to have a conversation. I “hid” from her, more times than not, and it was lonely for both of us.  So…missing her? I didn’t want her to die, but I did want to live differently, not be her caretaker, wishing for  things about her that where what I wanted in my Mom, but things that she was either unable to be, or unable to understand. I’m sure I wasn’t the son she wanted all the time either.

We were both difficult for the other, and for that I am sorry. It is not the relationship I wanted for the two of us, but it is the relationship that was. I wish she was here so that we could still try to work on how we interacted with each other, but…If there is a presence beyond our own, then I hope she is aware of all this.

I missed you when you were alive. I missed the words you never spoke, the affection you didn’t give, the apology you wouldn’t make. I missed the relationship we never had, the acceptance you couldn’t offer.

I’ve spent my whole life missing you, longing for the parent you could never be. And now that you are gone, I miss you even more. I don’t want to stop hoping for you to change. I don’t want to stop waiting for you. It’s hard to let you go, to concede that things between us will never improve.

I love you. And though you weren’t able to express it, I believe you loved me too.

May God be with you and bless you with peace. Amen.”

~from Talking to God by Naomi Levy (c)

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About StuHN

I am a creative individual with many areas of passion: Professional Storyteller; NYS Certified Drama Specialist/Educator; Professional Development Coordinator & Facilitator; Workshop Leader; sometime Puppeteer; Playwright; Director; Performer; Teaching Artist; and sometimes more.

Posted on January 25, 2013, in Despair, Family, Grief, Healing, Loneliness, Love, Prayers, Spiritual, Therapy, Transformation and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 12 Comments.

  1. very well written, very honest blog post – I too have an every growing strained relationship with my mother, I am trying to correct it, but I am not sure if it is possible – as for the money, it was suggested to me, I bought The Energy of Money by Maria Nemeth yesterday, it may help you too

    • Thank you Carolyn. I ordered the book from the library. As to your mom…there are just so many things we can do, or see, and the only thing we can really change is our reactions to them. I failed at that often, even though I tried. Good luck with you and your mom.

  2. You’ve gotten me thinking here Stu (congratulations). 8 years ago we put a “house” in on our property for my mom and step-dad. Step-dad passed away two years ago, mom is still doing well despite being a childhood polio victim. I’m thinking that we get along well because we do not live in the same house. I visit a couple of times a day and we e-mail back and forth all day long. You’ve gotten me thinking more seriously about what lies ahead; for her, for me, expectations. Perhaps unfulfilled expectations. You made some important points about relationships like this, what to expect and what can happen. Thinking on those now…

    • I hope the two of you stay on the course you’re on. My mom was always a difficult woman: her age only brought out the worst in her, with me. To everyone else, she was a different person.

  3. I’m glad you documented this. I believe that when we dream so vividly of loved ones that have passed on there is often a message in it for us. Something we perhaps cannot comprehend right now but will become clear in time. I hope you find the meaning of that message. We tend to categorise our relationships the way they were on earth – but in spirit the meaning and way is very different (my view only).

  4. I had very vivid dreams of my mom after she died too. I was with her when she passed and it was a visual that haunted me for a long time. Now 13 years after her death, she’s still in my dreams from time to time. But I’m no longer confused or conflicted after I have them, wondering what if. Now, I’m truly at peace and hope she is too. Hang in there Stuart!

    • I’m glad you found your own peace, Marie. I wasn’t in the room when she passed, but I was before she did, and after. I am hanging in…this is still only months, not years. Thanks.

  5. Does sharing the same burden make it any lighter, Stuart? I feel strangely comforted by your post and comments, and you point me in the right direction. I am trying to be the daughter she wants me to be and I try to forget my expectations for her to be the mother she could not be.

    • Barbara, if yours is like mine was, we were just on two very different wavelengths. I have others telling me she told them how much she loved me and cared for me, but she could never really say that to me. It is hard to accept the things we can’t hope for in another. It’s either accept it or fight it, hoping for a change. Accepting is more the answer, and it is our strength, or failing, in how we do it.

  6. ‘She wanted to tell me things, and I wanted a conversation’ t sums it up, doesn’t it? I hope that you will find peace soon.

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