I had a dream that I was running last night. Now don’t misunderstand me, it wasn’t running along the beach at St Andrews, chariots of fire style or getting to the finishing line in a race, no it was just ordinary running, like for the bus maybe. Or perhaps just for the hell of it to shake off some cobwebs or after the dog on the beach ( usually saying give the dog it’s ball back, Cara!) . For that moment I could run with the wind in my hair, smiling, enjoying the rush. Later in the dream I played paldies or hopscotch,if you’re not from round here. I was jumping up and down joyfully, feeling a child’s delight in the activity. Then a friend reminded me from an adult place to remember I wasn’t supposed to do any impact activity and I landed with a thud. Out of the dream back to reality. Running is in the past for me as is jumping on pavements to some long forgotten rhyme. Walking slowly is my current status and whilst I’m grateful still to do that, I’m still mortified that snails overtake me on a regular basis. I tut at myself or curse under my breath when I walk feeling I’m on a conveyor belt that’s going backwards. The stick is my life line to be able to walk any disctance but in spite of that I regularly leave it behind. Then curse some more till I retrieve it. I confess now these are less than mindful occasions.
So for a moment in the dream it was fun, carefree. Then I woke up. What it reminded me of was the dreams I’ve been having about my Mum. They vary but generally I realise she’s still alive and I worry about how she’s managing. I feel guilty of course that I hadn’t realised and it’s lovely to see her and a lightness returns for a moment. Then I wake up. Loss crushes me again for a time and then of course I move on, I have to.
Processing loss is not a tidy affair I’ve learned. Its not a linear process that you emerge from newly wise. Nor is it a neat circle that you travel round, from anger to denial to mourning to acceptance all tied up in a fancy bow. Nope, it’s messy, complex, confusing, alarming and maybe sometimes if you are lucky, comforting. But it changes and I know this will too as I adjust to my reduced mobility.
I’m thinking it’s time to bring back my « reasons to be cheerful » part of my blog from before. So this blogs reason to be cheerful is I’m enjoying swimming and my new physio belt is helping me jog/pedal in the water and it’s fun. Well there’s a nice twist to the tale. So if you see me don’t laugh, just know I’m running in my dreams.