I woke up on Monday morning after I dreamt of dying.
On Monday afternoon, at the end of my nap, a former friend died horrifically in my dream.
On Tuesday morning, I awoke to my mother dying, again.
I’m getting scared to sleep.
I’m not a big fan of interpreting dreams. I mostly just think dreams are dreams. Best left in that liminal space between sheet and cover. Let go of them as you put your feet on the floor.
It’s stayed with me.
Finally, in desperation I googled dreams of dying. Words like transformation. Changes. Letting go.
Am I stuck? In the midst of transformation? Wondering what to do next? Wondering what my life adds up to? Grieving?
I tell myself to let the dream go. It stays with me. Dying does that to a person.