I hate funerals. But for some reason, I found myself reliving one that I had known already happened. Back in March, My Grandmother passed away. I went through the whole thing on top of dealing with school and chauffeuring my younger brother back and forth to his middle school production of Beauty and the Beast.
I am a part of a family that is full of women. Crazy, neurotic, and caring women. Every time my family gets together, there is always an argument. The sister's are either fighting with each other or the wives are having snippy little fights under their breathes with their husband's about something one of the sisters said hours ago. And of course, the most famous in this case was, "Your mother just died. Why can't you just drop it?" For some reason, those words always create more trouble then they're worth. But, regardless of all the garbage and negativity that happens when my family gets together, we all eventually enjoy each others company.
In this particular dream, my quarreling aunts did not make an appearance. Not even as extra's. No one in my family did, actually.
I was standing in a pew with...we'll call him You. He wore a black suit jack, black pants, black dress shoes, a black tie, and a white button up shirt. He looked cool, calm, and collected, just as he always does. He towered over me even in my high heels and he stood close to me, holding my hand. The service had ended and we were just standing there. I looked up at him and said, "We don't have to do this. We can fix it."
His brown eyes looked down at me. They were sad and his mouth said, "No. It's destroyed."
Our dialogue continued as such for what felt like forever. And the more the words that escaped his lips pushed me away, his body pulled me closer and held me tighter.
Our bodies moved to the lobby where there were red velvet plush seats and an old Victorian era mirror. We stood in front of it just looking at one another. He continued to keep me close with his body and push me away with his words. The feeling of being torn in both directions made my heart begin to break.
"I won't let you go," I said as I wrapped my arms around him.
With my arms overlapping his I could feel him sigh. Tears streamed down my face but my eyes remained open. I could feel a gust of wind. It was slow and steady. Ashes began to cover You's suit jacket. I could tell that they were cigarette ashes.
He looked down at me as my small hands brushed the soft cotton of his jacket.
"I really can't," he said with an even tighter squeeze.
I brushed off more of the falling ashes and asked, "Have you been smoking again?"
My eyes opened. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and could still feel the squeeze his arms left around me. I realized that it never mattered if his words were pushing me away in reality or in my dreams. I still cried. It still hurt. I still never wanted to let go of him. The sinking feelings made me sick all day and I never wanted the feeling of him holding on to leave me. It took me hours just to get out of bed.
His arms eventually let go. I've never quite lost that sinking feeling.
I am a part of a family that is full of women. Crazy, neurotic, and caring women. Every time my family gets together, there is always an argument. The sister's are either fighting with each other or the wives are having snippy little fights under their breathes with their husband's about something one of the sisters said hours ago. And of course, the most famous in this case was, "Your mother just died. Why can't you just drop it?" For some reason, those words always create more trouble then they're worth. But, regardless of all the garbage and negativity that happens when my family gets together, we all eventually enjoy each others company.
In this particular dream, my quarreling aunts did not make an appearance. Not even as extra's. No one in my family did, actually.
I was standing in a pew with...we'll call him You. He wore a black suit jack, black pants, black dress shoes, a black tie, and a white button up shirt. He looked cool, calm, and collected, just as he always does. He towered over me even in my high heels and he stood close to me, holding my hand. The service had ended and we were just standing there. I looked up at him and said, "We don't have to do this. We can fix it."
His brown eyes looked down at me. They were sad and his mouth said, "No. It's destroyed."
Our dialogue continued as such for what felt like forever. And the more the words that escaped his lips pushed me away, his body pulled me closer and held me tighter.
Our bodies moved to the lobby where there were red velvet plush seats and an old Victorian era mirror. We stood in front of it just looking at one another. He continued to keep me close with his body and push me away with his words. The feeling of being torn in both directions made my heart begin to break.
"I won't let you go," I said as I wrapped my arms around him.
With my arms overlapping his I could feel him sigh. Tears streamed down my face but my eyes remained open. I could feel a gust of wind. It was slow and steady. Ashes began to cover You's suit jacket. I could tell that they were cigarette ashes.
He looked down at me as my small hands brushed the soft cotton of his jacket.
"I really can't," he said with an even tighter squeeze.
I brushed off more of the falling ashes and asked, "Have you been smoking again?"
My eyes opened. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and could still feel the squeeze his arms left around me. I realized that it never mattered if his words were pushing me away in reality or in my dreams. I still cried. It still hurt. I still never wanted to let go of him. The sinking feelings made me sick all day and I never wanted the feeling of him holding on to leave me. It took me hours just to get out of bed.
His arms eventually let go. I've never quite lost that sinking feeling.
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