Fever and Dreams

I’d like to think that I am doing alright; you know, with living life, completing tasks and interacting with daily norms. But the reality is it’s only been seven months… now, I will concede, that may sound like a long time when measuring against the pages of a calendar, but when equated to grief, it’s a matter of mere seconds. Hell, even a blink! In my dreams I see her face and hear her voice. Thing is, in those dreams, no matter how close she may be, nor how vivid she may appear, I am always just out of reach… a persistent feeling as though I need to find her guides my slumber. But, much like, Carmen San-Diego, she remains elusive and unattainable. That feeling of panic and search permeates my rest until my eyes release me from the rat-race… releasing me to the reality of seven months and the knowledge that what I seek is gone forever; my mum. She is gone. She stole herself from me. Her demons spoke louder than my voice. They bullied her, and now I am an orphan. A lost boy. An angry – boy. A seething man! Searching for that which does not exist. I am told many times over by those closest to me, that I need to ‘let go’ of the past – and I really feel as though I do! Yet, I still see with ultra-clarity, images of said past. None of us choose what to dream of; I’d like to think that nobody would willingly dream of the dead! So, what exactly is it that I am guilty of? I say guilty, because I am judged! Constantly… But for what? … Why?!

My mother’s death is hard on me for all of the reasons you would likely suspect, sure. But there is more… There is a deeper pit within me and my pain. I loved my mother! She may have been who she was and did what she did, but she was also good and kind as well… She was funny and polarizing in a very. “Joan” way. A month before she took her own life, I spent almost two-hours on the phone with her, listening as she informed me of the way in which she had planned to do such-a-thing. At the end of our phone confabulation, I looked at the cellular device in my hand and contemplated weather I needed to call the police on my mother’s spoken word… She lived across the country from me, so, there was no way for me to physically intervene. After several minutes of introspective debate, I activated my phone and called the police, local to her area and explained what was going on. I even downplayed her threats! That was exactly one month prior to the day on which she would actually die by way of suicide! …

As a paramedic, I intervened on many-a-suicide. I have also observed the aftermath of such an act… On a late October evening, I called the police on my mother, in hopes of preventing what she had threatened… on an early morning in November, I received a phone call telling me that she had done exactly what she told me she was going to do… She told me how she was going to die, and now I was hearing how truthful she was being!

In my most recent dream, I was back in uniform responding to a young woman who had hung herself in her bathroom (a real call that I had responded to). The initial stages of the dream played out just as the reality had done. However, when I entered into the bathroom, there was no young woman hanging from the railing as my mind had expected – there was instead a frail and petite figure on the floor at my feet; when I rolled the body towards me, it was my mother and the look of death confronting me! She was not breathing, and nor was I!

In my dream, I performed CPR on my own mother in a bathroom on the floor – much like the one she died in… When I woke-up, I was knelt beside my body pillow, my hands clasped together at the centre of the pillow where a chest might be… After that, I heard birds chirping outside, almost as if to mock me. Fuck you, birds! Why the fuck are you so happy?!

I think this latest round of: brain torment, is brought about by the fact that I am horribly ill and fighting a fever. Today is supposed to be therapy day, and I could likely use it, but all I really want to do now, is lay awake until I am no longer!

I hate the fact that I have saved so many and yet could not save the one I wish the most that I could have! I hate it… and I know how selfish that sounds… but I do not care! A man must be accountable for all he says, and I am telling you how I feel!

Anyway, I blame my fever for this; fever dream! Nobody will judge me for blaming a fever, but everyone judges me for the pain I hold and my feeling of not being able to save my own mother – even me! I have saved, rapists, molesters, murderers and drug dealers… and when it comes to my mother, all I did was listen to her foreshadowing of death! I hate myself for that!! My job was to save people, and save people I did – but not her… not her… she joined the list of those I was too late for…

As I write this, I am sick in body and in mind… what a truly symbolic Monday! Great start to the week…