He loves me

7/18/12     1:08pm

I had the most intense dream last night. It was about Dad and J-. I can’t recount in too much detail. I’m still in a fog an hour later.

I was looking for J- and his secretary, this lady, kept telling me I could only contact him through FB. I was confused and frustrated, but finally I figured out that was code for him being a patient at MV. I went to visit him in the ICU. He was a mess. Didn’t wanna see Rachael. I’m worried about him. I said I would come back. The next day I had a Hell of a time getting there. Kim was following me on a skateboard. Had to navigate the ocean to find my way.

Somehow I found a lady from Social Security. I don’t know what she was calling about but she had so much information. Information nobody has. She told me that my

(mom touches me. need to SCREAM. her energy is stuck to my ear. can’t breathe.)

She told me my mom was there when my dad died and that she stopped them from saving him. I couldn’t breathe, so much crying. I was injected into the scene. I watched but I saw something they didn’t. Before he died, after they stopped trying, he woke up. He opened his eyes wide, smiled hugely – a grin like I’ve never seen – pointed to him, pointed to the ceiling. He looked at me, said “I love you,” smiled big, pointed at the ceiling again and was gone.

(deep breath)
I wasn’t angry anymore.
I felt peace. I heard his voice.
He loves me.

This woman, my worker, knew a lot about me. She knew things about my life I don’t know. But we were putting flowers in a vase and she said she knows I drive a lot. I told her I don’t, that I don’t have a license. She said I have a permit. I said that I don’t. She said, “Then that’s the next step.” And my mom woke me up.

What I take from this:

  • J- is sick/stressed. I should stop sending him emails.
  • My dad is okay. I can let go, disengage. He loves me.
  • I need to get my permit this week.

What a dream.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2012

About a dream

9-6-11     1:24pm

Had a very stressful dream. I was late to a choir performance at Diane’s church, Mom sang in the choir and my glasses broke. Ken was directing music I didn’t know and I was bitchy and in crisis. He played Santa in a number at the end but looked like Mr. J. And then he was gone. A dream in my dream told me he had given the choir to Diane. She said, “How did you know?” My dream told me.

I was trying to get back to Cuyamaca College to catch Ken, but I was riding golf carts with other people who kept stopping and weighing too much. The last cart I took stopped in front of a shady business and let us pick quickly from dying plants they were supposed to throw out.

I went school shopping with Mom for 3 but couldn’t find what she wanted – the perfect blow-up chair. I also wanted lemonade that no one could find.

One of my old clients had been injured and was taken to Scripps. I worked with a few of the doctors. He was to be kicked out because he had straight MediCal and I threw a fit, DEMANDED to speak with the boss. He had died and they directed me to the joint Executive Directors.

Then I was in the hospital and by a pool and very tired. I was scared they would not let me back in because I’d left to tend to that client. But they were so kind and did. My nurse and I were laughing trying to figure out how to pee into this test-tube with arms. 

When I got back to my room two young guys were there – the Executive Directors from the other hospital. They brought me flowers. They layed on my bed and the one next to it. I stood. I pleaded my case but they would have none of it. Money money money.

But then the short guy (not the tall skinny hot one) started to cough. One cough repeatedly. He became very old and fell out of bed coughing up yellow stuff. Then he had a heart attack. And they gave my client the care he needed for free.

I really wanted to talk to Dr. N but every time I typed this phrase it became icons. He had forgotten his name and where he lived and what he practiced. He became a thick blue line at the top of the screen with two flowers thrown in. Terrifying.

The dream didn’t happen in this order but this is the way I remembered it. It’s the other way around.

© Michelle Routhieaux 2011