Kylee Broughton

formerly Two Pretzels

Grief, Uncategorized ·

on grief: the dream

Note: I wrote this post on November 24th, about 3 months after my Mom died and several days before Thanksgiving. I’ve been sharing parts of this process on my blog, but in order to protect myself, I am sharing them several weeks or so after I wrote them. I want to be able to look back at these posts and see how I’ve grown…  Besides, the emotion seems less sharp and raw a couple of weeks later? Maybe? I think this is my way of gaining perspective. So, ignore scattered thoughts. Ignore poor grammar and punctuation. These words were a pure stream of emotion.

It’s my goal to catch up and be “real-time” about my feelings before January 1, 2014. I want all of my previously-written posts to be published before the new year.

What you’ll read below is something that I thought and thought and thought about before actually posting…

::

11.24.13

I don’t dream. Well, I do dream, but I never dream anything that really matters or that I pay much attention to. After she died, I kept hoping this would change. That I’d have a dream and learn something meaningful. It seems as if everyone kept asking me, “Did you have a dream yet? A sign? Have you heard from your Mom?”

And I did get a sign. It was a chime. On my iPad. From the Words with Friends app.

Her way… I smile as I type this.

And then last night I fell asleep and I had a dream. I’d say it was my third dream since her death. Up until now, my dreams have merely included her. They’ve always been in the “before” – I don’t think she’s been gone in them.

In last night’s dream, I don’t know where we were, but I think it was a beautiful kitchen. It was set up for some sort of cooking show or presentation… or maybe a funeral? (Apparently those are one-in-the-same in my world. But then again, she loved cooking…) 
There were folding chairs in rows and a sort of aisle in the middle. My aunts were there, my little sister, me… and my Mom. And we were all wearing black. And the details are faint and blurry but I know that my Mom wasn’t behaving and she was goofing off. She was being disruptive. I was like, “Mooooommmm!”  I don’t know if she was alive or dead… but that was the dream.

It is what it is.

Then, the second part of the dream shifted to a boy… I think a teenage boy. And I was saying to someone, I think maybe my Mom?, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.” I have no idea who that boy was, but I don’t have a son and the “boy” was far younger than my husband. 

Anywho. That was it with the second part of the dream.
So this is the last part of the dream. The part that is CRYSTAL clear.
This part of the dream took part in my bed.
In reality and in my dream, I was lying in bed on our light blue flowered sheets. Next thing I know, my Mom sort of appears from the area where my feet are. I don’t know if she came from under the covers or what… but the next thing I know, my Mom is laying next to me in my bed. Right there. Near my face. 
She’s sort of leaning up against the headboard and I look at her… sort of shocked… thinking, “Whoa. Whoa. This is cool. I don’t want this to end.”

And she looks like my Mom, only healthier. No sallow skin; it was healthy and normal. No illness. I noticed that her hair was in the cut she always liked, but her hair was thicker and wispy and blonde and cute. Not falling out and thin because of her kidneys failing.

I actually said to Craig (in the dream),”Do you see this?” And he leaned up and nodded his head.

I remember feeling that I didn’t want this to end.
I remember that it felt good.
That here she REALLY was. Sitting next to me.

And then she said, “So, you probably want to know what happened…”


I immediately replied with no hesitiation, “No.”

[I have no idea what I said that. Maybe because I knew it was a car accident and all along that hasn’t been the most improtant part to me. SURE, I’ve replayed that day in my brain again and again. And I’ve created a horrendous image of her dead. In her car. But still, that’s not the most important question I have. The next question is and has been the most important to me:]

I asked her, “Did you know?”

[And by this, I meant, did you know in the days or weeks that led to your death that you were going to die? Did you feel it? Could you tell that something had shifted and it was your time? Because everything leading up to your death showed me that you knew. The conversations. The notes. The preparations. Your body. Your voice…]

And she replied very calmly and knowingly, “Yes.”

Then she went on, “I was talking to Aunt L. and…”

…and then I woke up. Vivi has had a high fever and is sick with some sort of virus and she was crying in the middle of the night for me so I woke up.

I was so sad that dream was over. I didn’t want it to be.

::

“And she replied very calmly and knowingly, “Yes.”

Then she went on, “I was talking to Aunt L. and…”

::

It was so… strangely comforting.

I felt like my Mom was truly in my bed with me. It may sound creepy, but it wasn’t at all.

When I got up to get Vivi her motrin, I have to admit – I felt odd. I felt like something incredible just happened. Something really cool. Something life-changing. 

I remembered WORD FOR WORD our exchange and I kept replaying it in my mind. (I don’t believe I’ve ever remembered anything from a dream before. Not like this.) I have to admit, I was a little nervous to walk into the dark kitchen to get Vivienne’s motrin and I may or may not have had my nearly 3-year-old sick child hold my hand as we walked into the dark kitchen together. But this sort of sounds like I was afraid; I wasn’t. I just felt like something had just… happened.

I’m sure this all sounds crazy and if I decide to put this on my blog people.will.think.Ihave.officially.lost.it… but it was so ridiculously real.

I remembered our conversation.

::

“So, you probably want to know what happened…”
“No… did you know?”
“Yes.”
::
And there it is.

Up until this point I had not yet had a dream where my Mom has been dead.
I haven’t yet had a dream that existed in the “after“.

And this was SO BOLDLY “after.” She asked me if I wanted to know what happened. AND I ANSWERED NO. [insert eye roll here. WHO WOULD ANSWER NO? ]

I would. 

Because she’s more than *how* she died. 
Most importantly, I wanted to know if she was prepared to die. If she was ready. For some reason the whole thing seems far more palatable and slightly less tragic if I know that she was ready. The manner in which she died? Of course that’s not great. But really, it could have been far worse…

It was so real. Her face was near mine. That was my Mom. With me.

I would be skeptical if anyone told me this story. I would think that they were losing it; that they conjured up some sort of vision that is solely a result of their unconsiocus needing to feel that everything was ok. But this? This happened. Her. Healthy. On my bed. My Mom. After she died. I saw her. I talked to her. I remembered it.

::
“Did you know?”
“Yes.”
::
And that’s all I need to know right now.

I’m telling you. It was. so.real.

Unbelievable. 

But believable.

::

Update as of today, Tuesday December 10th. The day after I had this dream I cried on and off all day because it was so real. She said if she could tell me she was ok, she would. And I believe she did. I asked Craig a thousand times that day, “Do you think I’m nuts?” He said, “No.” And that he was happy for me.
When I woke up that morning I laid in bed and immediately called my little sister. I told her everything. She cried. I cried. It wasn’t just a dream…
In the days leading up to that dream I had been telling God and my Mom that I was ready. That I wasn’t scared anymore and that if she wanted to send me a message, game on. Let’s do this. I can handle it now. I was very, very open to this.
It wasn’t a dream. I’m pragmatic. I don’t believe in unicorns and tarot card readers. My life is very cut and dry. 
THIS? Whatever this was, it happened and it calmed me and gave me peace. I feel so confident that she knew that it was her time and that at the moment she died her spirit peacefully and happily left her body and that she wasn’t shocked. She knew it was coming.
She prepared us.
Sigh.

Photobucket

—The Story of Loss. On Losing my Mom.

September 9, 2013  ::  The day I found out ::  Post here.
September 16, 2013  ::  It’s One Week today  ::  Post here.
September 25, 2013  :: The Call  ::  Post here.
September 30, 2013  ::  Slivers of Sunlight  ::  Post here.
October 6, 2013  ::  That first week.Those first days :: Post here.
October 14, 2013  ::  14 days after  ::  Post here.
October 20, 2013  ::  I found a treasure  ::  Post here.
November 4, 2013  ::  She’s been gone for 4 weeks  :: Post here.
November 13, 2013  ::  I smile and drive and cry and smile and cry  :: Post here.
November 17, 2013  ::  Weekends aren’t easy  :: Post here.
November 26, 2013  ::  The holidays, the firsts  ::  Post here.
December 1, 2013  :: 8 weeks  :: Post here.
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Comments

  1. Ky, this is beautiful. And my heart is soaring with happiness for your dream. Though our situations are much different, after my car accident all I wanted to know were the how's and why's. I couldn't get enough of the recounts and the stories and the on-that-day statements… I was hungry to get a piece of the time I had lost back. I always wondered, how during rush hour traffic, did my car roll across a freeway without a single other car included, how did I survive. I don't believe in unicorns and I too am cut and dry, but on my first independent journey in a car past the spot, I knew. My brother who had passed away while I was in high school, he is the one who saved me. He was on my right shoulder, cushioning the rolls. It was him, he is my angel. And to this day, but more so when Avery was a baby, she would look over my right shoulder and make faces and "talk", now she looks over every once in a while and gets lost staring… He's with me always. I know it. Completely, without question.All this to tell you, you are not crazy and it was real. Absolutely, positively real. xoxoxo

    Reply

    • Oh, friend. I believe you. I know that's your brother, too. And I strongly believe that wee ones (and animals) sense our angels that are watching over us.I am so thankful that your brother kept you safe. Love to you. xoxo

      Reply

  2. Not crazy. It's a visit, and I'm so happy for you. I am also someone who does not believe in anything airy-fairy, but this I believe in. <3 -Bridget

    Reply

  3. this gave me chills, and made my heart swell. i'm so thankful god answered your prayers in such a tangible and meaningful way. i know you will cherish it, my friend.

    Reply

  4. Kylee, this whole post gave me chills. I am so happy that you were able to experience what you needed and were able to find comfort in that experience. No matter what exactly it was, you saw your mom. You talked to her. It gave you some peace. And even if the conversation didn't finish…well that just means that some day there will be another one. Love you.

    Reply

  6. Kylee, I just finally got around to reading this post. Beautiful. You have been on my mind & in my prayers since your mother's passing. And now that my Ellie has passed, your prayers and kindness and your transparent blog posts have truly blessed me. I sobbed through this, ugly sobs (not the romanticized sweet tears), my heart hurts for you & is yet also comforted in reading this. I am so thankful you got your dream… I am still waiting for one…. a glimpse of my girl, anything… perhaps it is still too fresh. I find myself flashing back to the trauma of my "that day" and then day dreaming of the eternal ever-after when my journey is also complete… not in a morbid, depressed sort of way, but in a "I'm gonna see my girl again someday". We have joined the ranks of the bereaved, though not by choice. It's a whole new world, a world that I believe God graces us with special glimpses to comfort our hearts… thank you for sharing your journey with us, it somehow helps to know we are not alone & that life carries on, with joy even. Many Blessings to you my friend, May God give you sweet moments of joy & comfort through this Christmas season and the months to come.

    Reply

    • Oh Jen, before my Mom passed the term "my heart aches" didn't have as much meaning as it does not. My friend, oh my friend – my heart aches for you.I think of you, of Ellie, so often. Praying for you, your husband, Ellie's siblings, has become second nature. There is indeed a solidarity in this "club" that we're now in. You're right. We aren't alone. And life does carry on.My sister and I were talking about death the other day and we agree with you…ever-after will be complete because we'll see our Mom again… and I'll see my Dad… and you'll see your baby.I'm going to redirect my prayers for you – that you get what your heart needs. A glimpse… a hug… a smile… I know you're so open to that. And I think you might be on to something: your loss… it's so fresh… maybe a bit more time needs move on. I can't wait to hear about it when it happens, though.Hugs and hugs to you – and thank you again for your kind words. My prayers will continue for you…

      Reply

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