Last Night's Dream

Crying Out

Last night I awoke from a terrible dream after screaming at my sisters at the top of my lungs, “I hate you!”
It disturbs me to think that I would yell such awful words to my three sisters, who are my dearest friends and confidants.

Tom often called me a great interpreter of dreams, though I never had any formal training. I simply think about the person and their life, looking for connections in their dream. A little intuition mixed with insight usually brings about a pretty good interpretation.

On my way home from work, I decided to try to interpret my dream—and I think I’ve come pretty close to its heart.

The dream takes place at my parents’ house, where we moved in 1974 and where they lived until their deaths. Clean, orderly, beautifully decorated, warm, and inviting, their home could have been featured in House and Garden magazine. In the dream, my old Honda Odyssey was parked outside, and deer had gotten trapped inside. My sisters and I worked to get them out, and once freed, we saw that they had caused a lot of damage to the interior. I noticed that they had urinated on the carpet, and I knew the smell would probably linger no matter what we did. My sisters were sure it could all be cleaned, so we worked hard to remove the seats and cushions to restore the van. At one point, I said I didn’t need the car and just wanted to sell it for junk. But they insisted it could be fixed, and continued to work toward that end. That’s when I let out my blood-curdling scream.

My Honda.
I loved my Honda Odyssey. After years of struggling with subpar cars and living in a house that fell short, we finally had a brand-new, beautiful van with leather seats. When I was in my Honda, I felt respectable. I felt it reflected my parents’ values and expressed who I was and who I hoped to be.

My Honda represents the life I imagined for myself—the one that suited me best. It was comfortable, easy to drive, and turned on a dime. It had room for the ones I love—and it took us to nice, fun places.

The Deer.
The deer are gentle but powerful creatures, much like Tom and his brain injury. He is loving and well-intentioned. Yet, like the deer trapped in the Honda, he is confined in a body that sometimes wreaks havoc and disrupts our life. Incontinent, he produces mountains of laundry and messes that cannot be ignored. His dependence on me for meals, dressing, toileting, and practically everything else can feel like deer thrashing about in the van.

My Sisters.
My sisters symbolize my own drive to live up to the values of my upbringing—the “shoulds” and “musts” that push me to make my life as beautiful, clean, and orderly as possible. The effort can feel Herculean.

My Cry.
My scream is a release. What do I hate? I hate the pretense that all is fine when it is clearly not. There is pain beyond imagining, and I do not like it at all.

After the Dream.
Honesty is freeing. As I carry this cross, I know what I truly want—and it is not to run away or give up. I want to find God’s strength in my weakness. I want to find His comfort in my grief. I want to discover His grace and beauty in the less-than-perfect life of caring for Tom.

This morning, I was praying and meditating on the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary with Bishop Barron.
He said, “The whole of Jesus’ life is a battle against the devil, culminating in the Cross. In the garden, the temptation to avoid following God’s will is evident. Yet, struggling against every instinct in his body, he demonstrates fortitude, utterly aligning his will to that of the Father: ‘Yet not my will but yours be done.’ … As we pray this decade, I invite you to see his great prayer in the garden as a guide for our own prayers and a key to lasting joy and peace: ‘Not my will, but yours be done.’”

Two things struck me: Christ’s demonstration of fortitude is something great and noble. If I am His follower, I must imitate Him in fortitude—and, thankfully, I have a cross perfectly suited to cultivating fortitude: the challenge of saying those difficult words, “Not my will, but yours be done.”

Without cynicism, I can pray: Trust me with this, Lord Jesus! Give me all the graces to keep saying ‘yes.’ Gather my tears on the hard days, and bless me with wells of refreshment along the way so that I may find joy even on this journey.