For a while the nightmares had gone away. It has been a little over two years since my Papa died. The little I slept for the year following his death was filled with nightmares. Sometimes of him yelling at us for bringing him to the hospital, sometimes of him standing there just looking at me with his watery eyes, sad as can be, sometimes of him telling me he isn't really gone and not to stop looking for him, it was all a rouse to hide him from bad guys.
After a year went by, I thought I may have been close to my breaking point. The lack of sleep was getting to me and I was pushing everyone in my life away. I didn't want to have anything to do with anyone. My husband lived in a different state and I had no motivation to move their with him. With a house note in Texas and me in Louisiana I was forced to seek shelter with how else other than my grandmother. She needed constant help around the house so it was my duty as well. I was put up in room across from my Papa's. I spent most nights sitting in my bed staring into his room, wishing he would come back, ending up curling into a ball and crying myself to sleep, only to be awoken by the nightmares.
I'm not sure what snapped me back to reality, but at some point I realized how unhealthy it was for me. I had pushed my family away and I was on the verge of losing one of the only people who has ever truly cared for me, my husband. I was determined to do whatever I had to do to get on with my life.
I managed to score an interview then subsequently a job so I could live with hubby. I mended some broken fences with my family and got back in touch with my friends. I kept myself so busy so I wouldn't think about my Papa. Every now and then the guilt would sweep over me for forgetting him, but I pushed it away, I can't start this all over. I keep one of his carpenter pencils in my purse to remind myself he is always with me and also kinda like a good luck charm. That was the most I could do.
It took a simple text from my sister to start it again, I believe. She text me last night "dude, grand tarino was a sad movie." And I said "It looked like it would be. I avoided it because clint eastwood reminds me of papa." She replied "well, this movie is so papa." I put down my cell phone and avoided conversation with everyone for the night. I tried to let the thought go but I guess my brain didn't want to. Last night was full of horrible dreams. The main one being my grandparents' house full of well wishers from the funeral and me screaming in the middle of them, but no one could hear me. I then looked over at pictures that were up of my Papa. They began moving and he was making funny faces, I began to laugh. Papa always had a way of making me laugh. Only he could make me laugh the day after my horrible car accident. Thirty some odd stitches in my face and my Papa had to make me laugh.
Anyways, the remaining parts of the dream were filled with memories of the hospital stint. So many things went wrong that shouldn't have. I blame the people at the hospital that were supposed to be there to help but only ended up killing him, but mainly I blame myself. He didn't want to go to the hospital. Why didn't we just listen to him.
Ugh, anyways, at this point I would gladly welcome back the Freddy Kruger dreams to replace these nightmares. :(