Dream Interpretation 

Dream Interpretation

So I usually go to my brother's house every Saturday. My boyfriend said he'd never seen a sibling relationship so close--and once, when we started dating (before he got a good look at it), he thought a photo of my brother and myself was a photo of my bro and his girlfriend--this was before he'd met either of them.

Anyway, the reason I make sure I see my brother once a week is because when I was married before my husband sort of made me ostracize myself from my family. He didn't mind if I'd visit them now and again, but he certainly didn't want them over at our place. When my mom and her husband would come over and he was home, he'd sit quietly upstairs and make me lie and say he was at work or something. Shady.
So when I got a divorce (2 years ago, now) I made a promise to myself that I would let nothing (not even laziness) come between my relationship with my bro.

Okay. This Saturday we were talking about our father, who passed away in '91 of colon cancer. He said that he'd had a dream (not necessarily recently) with Dad in it. I confessed that I hadn't had any dreams of or with Dad in them. When my Dad was in the funeral home, my mother swore we should touch Dad's lifeless body, explaining that if we did so, we wouldn't have dreams about him. Now I'm not sure if she said bad dreams, or if she just said dreams. That's the bad thing about memory--it's so hard to rely on, really. I need to be able to download all of memories--all of them--and then be able to access them at will. Imagine! Anyway, so I touched Dad's body--bad move. I mean,I knew he was gone, but touching that mannequinned representation of my father was not good. But, until last night I guess it worked: no dreams of Dad.

Now I hate when dreams are disjointed. Most of my dreams are fairly coherent and have a logical plot line. This dream of my father was strange. This first part was so disconnected I don't even know how to describe it, but the second half was about my dad and his best friend in Germany, skiing down the roads of military housing. I was there, too, laughing the whole time, enjoying myself while dad and his friend talked about random shit. Wierd. He was healthy in this part of the dream. In the first part he was sick and trying to play it off. That portion of the dream's setting was also Germany, but in the house of my Oma and Opa. I enjoy dreams. They fascinate me, really. Someone once told me that dreams keep us sane--that they are necessary--however little they may actually mean. My ex would hate for me talk of dreams. Hell, I think he just hated for me to talk! But I suppose that's another topic for another day.