Normally I go to bed HORRIBLY LATE. I don't know why. It has never made sense to me; you'd think that every time a cloud passed over the sun I'd hop into its protective shadow and attempt unconsciousness, but no. I usually go to bed between 2 and 3 in the morning, and sometimes not at all. And I pay for that. So does everyone around me. Yet I still persist.
I think I've a clue as to why.
Lately, I've been trying to go to bed at a decent hour (between 9-10PM), and I've noticed that I have nightmares all night long. When I kept late hours I didn't dream much. Oh, I had the occasional vision, and occasionally it was nasty-wasty, but my brain was mostly too-fried to conjure up any dreams much less a nice vivid gut-wrencher. Now when I go to bed at a decent hour it's like my brain isn't completely exhausted and so it has the energy to cook up all these horrible scenarios.
Ever since I killed my first child in a second-trimester abortion I have had the recurring dream that I have decapitated my dad (see: paternal grandfather who, along with my grandmother, had custody of me). Always in the dream someone is on the verge of finding out. Last night my mother (see grandmother) was thinking of moving back to Tennessee. In these dreams my dad is usually buried nearby. Last night he was in the back yard. She was thinking of disinterring him and reinterring him in Tennessee. Of course I flipped. I assumed she was going to open the casket at some point and find that while his head would be there, it wouldn't be in its usual location. So I spent the whole dream feeling sick to my stomach at the grisly thing I'd done, wondering why in heaven's name I hacked my beloved dad's head off in the first place, and trying like mad to prevent anyone from discovering what I'd done.
I know I have unresolved issues. My parents were both dead before I even got married. My mom died right before I married. We discussed what she would wear at the wedding, but she didn't make it. Three months after the wedding scarlet hell came knocking in the form of a severe, debilitating pregnancy-related maternal illness that was neglected by just the right group of ignorant, uninterested physicians. Our precious, much-anticipated baby was due on our first wedding anniversary. It was very sweet, but everything was transformed by the illness, and you know the rest of the story. But perhaps my parents don't.
Get ready to send emails: I'm not exactly sure what happens when we die.
The Bible speaks often of death in terms of sleep. Re: Christ's comment in Luke 23:43: "Jesus answered him, 'I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise.'" The argument is made that the original differs with the modern punctuation and should be read: "Jesus answered him, 'I tell you the truth today, you will be with me in paradise.'"
Also consider that the dead shall rise from their graves at the second coming of Jesus. What are they rising from if they haven't been there all along? Apparently, they are rising to spiritual bodies.
OK, so "Bible corner with Ashli" is only to say that I do think it's possible that right at this moment my (grand)parents are just...dead. I didn't say this was the popular Christian concept, but I've never been one to follow a crowd.
If my folks are, for the moment, kaput, then they don't know the ghastly thing that I've done, which could account for the recurring paternal Pop nightmare! Yes, yes, I've finally gotten back around to that, and it only took me about ten thousand words! WOOHOO!!!
I wonder, "Why my (grand)dad? Why always him?" I loved them both very much; there's no reason for me to mentally lop off his head and not hers. There are no hidden secrets, no abuse, nothing but good vibrations. Why always him?
And I think back to some guy who wrote a crazy paper that, in my mind, immediately discredited pretty much anything he ever had to say. But in my search, I find myself wondering...could any aspect of that be true? Is this symbolic? I.e., somewhere in my biology do I know that my baby was a boy? Because for the life of me, intellectually, I have NO CLUE. Other mothers say they "just know" the sex of their aborted children (although they have zero evidence). I say it's not possible, but what's the point in taking that away from them? And anyway, I'm just trying to find an answer for this freaking dream, so I'm reaching, reaching.
BTW, spare me the reincarnation-related emails. I reject that idea outright, so go spew your Bible hokey pokey somewhere else. (The older I get, the more apt I am to just come right out and say things, coarse as they may be.)
There has GOT to be a reason I keep having this dad-decapitating dream, but I confess I don't know what it is. Perhaps the answer is to let go of the answer and focus on the cure.
My (grand)dad was not maimed. The only person I ever maimed was my child. I know how the dreaded D&E is performed during the 2nd trimester of pregnancy. I know that my child very likey was decapitated, perhaps while already dead from previous abortion-related injuries.
I know David set circumstances so that an innocent man (Uriah) would be killed. I also know that God was neither fooled nor swayed by technicalities; He pointed His almighty finger at David saying, "YOU killed him..." I am guilty. That does not take away the guilt of contributors (such as the abortionist, without whom I never would have killed my child), but I AM GUILTY.
This cannot be "worked out" as the "dream experts" suggest I do. The only One Who can resolve it is Christ Himself. So henceforth I determine to remember to, through the fog of my dreams, call on His name.
The next time I have this dream, I will cry out like a wounded child. I will call the name of Christ, upon whose scarred body my sins rest. It is all I can do. In moments like these I realize that all I really have is Christ.