Ellemental

Almost 15 years ago, my grandfather suffered a major stroke. This stroke came after several years of declining health and many, many mini-strokes. The last one left him in a hospital, hooked up to many machines, and unconscious. The week following the stroke before he finally passed away was, not surprisingly, the hardest week of my life. That was my pappy lying there…the man who always answered the telephone with a huge, booming, “hYELLOOO”, the man who after retirement still climbed trees on the weekend, the man who still called me his little girl. Even when the prognosis kept getting dimmer and dimmer, I couldn’t accept death. It was…well, unacceptable.

One night during that week, I had a dream. In the dream I was home (my grandparents home), and my grandfather had indeed died. I was standing on the front porch, but it was the carved wooden porch of my childhood instead of the concrete and cast iron “new” porch, and it was nighttime. In my dream, my grandfather walked toward me, up the sidewalk, and he was carrying a huge snarl of Christmas lights in his arms. Strands upon strands of tangled green cords with tiny, bright, shining lights. They were lit, but they weren’t plugged in. My grandfather joined me on the porch and handed me the lights. He told me that the lights would eventually go out, and when they did, he would be gone, but that I shouldn’t focus on that, I should focus on the lights. The lights were heavy and warm. Every time I focused on a single light, a memory from my childhood came back to me…my grandfather teaching me to ride a bike, ice cream cones, Sunday afternoon trips to the little municipal airport. Every once in a while, I would lose my concentration when I realized that lights were going out. Sometimes only one went out, sometimes several flickered out at the same time. When this happened, I would panic and try to give the lights back, to make him re-light them. He just shook his head. After a while, I was lulled by the lights and the memories, and the panic was gone. All these memories! Favorite dresses I had forgotten about, the big console TV in the living room!

After a while (in the dream it seemed liked hours), the final light finally went out and I was left holding a big pile of wires. I looked up for my grandfather to see what was next, what was I supposed to do NOW, but he was gone.

I can’t say that that dream made it all better. My grandfather’s death was the first (and still the only) family member that I have mourned as an adult. I can’t even remember the specific memories that I dreamed about (or even if they are real memories, or were just “real” in the dream, if that makes sense.) I can say that the dream helped my grieving process then, and has helped in other difficult times since then.

I always connect that dream with the quote, “It’s not the destination, it’s the journey.” And it’s that dream that has helped me find joy in ordinary moments, and it helps me remember that moments and interactions with other people may be run of the mill for me, but may be tiny, bright, shining lights that create their happy memories.