Missing

During the summer of 2005 my mom started to do unusual, compulsive things as a result of her Alzheimer’s. One of the things she did for hours on end, was to dead-head the flowers in the garden and put the seeds, pods, leaves, stems, and blossoms into arrangements everywhere. I told my sisters that she was trying to make order out of chaos. Everything she touched became a work of art, so I started photographing what she had done. I will post those here occasionally.


So my husband, my son, and I went for a quick visit to my dad’s. I can’t help but miss my mom when I’m up there. I can’t believe it’s only been four months since she died. Sometimes it feels like forever ago; sometimes it feels like she was just in the room.

I am a fairly early riser usually. And I like to stay up late as well. So once in a while, I take a mid-afternoon nap to try to catch-up with my sleep. But last Saturday, as I sat on the couch reading a magazine at about 11:00 a.m., I started to feel my eyelids get heavy, and soon stretched out and fell asleep — which is a very strange thing for me to do. While I was asleep I had the same dream about my mother – twice.

I was sitting at the dining room table drinking orange juice from a coffee cup, alone in the morning quiet. Mom walked into the room wearing her green velor robe and smiling at me. Her hair had been newly done and looked vibrant auburn and neatly styled — not the way she looked in the last few months of her illness when we could barely get it washed and combed. I looked up at her, and she smiled at me, and I started crying. I felt as though my whole body was shuddering with my sobbing. She reached across the table and held my had. “I miss you so much,” I said to her. She didn’t say a word to me, just pulled me from my chair and put her arms around me. Even now, a week later, I can feel the feeling of her slender but strong arms wrapped around me, holding me close. I was crying in her arms as she stroked my hair.

You know what it’s like when you have a nightmare that you want to escape and you force yourself to wake up just a little or you roll over to interrupt the images? That’s what I did. But I didn’t wake all the way up. Instead I had the exact same dream for a second time.

At the exact same moment, I forced myself awake — all the way this time. My husband was sitting in the recliner next to me watching football. “Did I say anything in my sleep?” I asked him.
“No,” he replied. “Why?”
“I just had the strangest dream.” I was so surprised that I hadn’t been crying in my sleep. My body felt achy, like it does after a good cry, and I just couldn’t shake the image and the touch of mom out of head. And I still can’t.

5 thoughts on “Missing

  1. I can’t imagine how much you must miss her. I love her arrangement of the flowers and there is something comforting in knowing she was trying to make order out of chaos. It’s what we all do, isn’t it? I’m sure one of the hardest things about losing her the way you did is that you didn’t have her to comfort you through it, so maybe you dream about her comforting you to make up for it. I was very touched by your post and I’ll be thinking kind thoughts of and for you today. (I’ve been a fan of your altered books for a very long time).

    Lisa Poole

  2. Thanks so much for your comments, Lisa. I’ve tried to think about the meaning of this dream. I too believe that it’s a way of gaining her comfort. But it still hurts to think about it. In fact, as I’m reading it over again, I can’t keep myself from crying.

  3. Hi Karen! I often read your blog and love your artwork. I was also touched by your recent post ‘missing’. My mom died about 12 years ago and I had a similar dream. I saw her, took her face in my hands, and told her “I miss you so much”. She said nothing, just smiled and nodded knowingly. When I woke I felt as though so much pressure had been released – I had been bursting with the feelings of missing her and somehow in my dream I was finally able to release those feelings and tell her.

    I have written an essay about my journalling journey that begins with her death. Thought you might be interested. It is at http://storyteller-and-listener.blog-city.com/kristin_saegaert.htm.

    I am so sorry for your loss.

  4. Thank you Kristin, for sharing your dream about your mother. I think it’s fascinating how similar our dreams were! Maybe it’s some kind of archetype. I’m glad that your dream was comforting and reassuring to you. Maybe over time I will feel the same way about the dream I had.

    I read your article about journaling and took a look at your handmade books — they’re beautiful. Thanks for reminding me why writing is so important — to preserve those memories so they can never fade away.

  5. Since my father’s death, two years ago, I have also had such dreams. When he comes to me in a dream, I feel as if it is a special gift. Often I do not remember the dreams very well. He is usually quite young in them. Sometimes I try so hard to stay asleep and let the dream continue, but all too often them moment is gone. I wake feeling so lonely for him.

    I am sorry for your loss. I love your artwork. I hope your dreams bring you comfort.

    Desiree

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