This morning my husband informed me that I had a bad dream during the night. I then vaguely remembered him waking me up but have no recollection of the nightmare. I asked him how he knew I was in the grasp of some unconscious struggle and he replied, “You said, ‘I’m going to kill you'”. Twice.
I’m curious to know what the dream was and I wonder where the dreams go that we cannot call to kind, even though that’s where they reside. I can understand the bad ones staying undercover and I suppose we should all be grateful for that. But what about the good ones? I don’t want to forget them. In the early days and months after my vision loss I often dreamt my full sight had been restored. It was painful at the time to wake up and realize it hadn’t but now I would welcome colors and clarity and brightness any way I can get them. And to spend time with my mom would be wonderful; I’m sure in those reunions my husband would hear me laughing in my sleep. What about the ideas and inspirations that come to us at night that leave us feeling excited about our future when morning comes? I don’t want any of these images and thoughts to disappear in the time between their end and my emerging from sleep.
I don’t know who I threatened last night. Twice. Normally in my scary dreams I am paralyzed by fear and am unable to move, unable to scream. Where forgotten dreams go is a mystery. But in this nighttime thriller I took on the bad guy. Maybe that’s not such a nightmare after all.
