I had a bad dream about my mom last night. Some of you know that history, but for those of you who don’t, let’s just say it wasn’t the nicest of childhoods, and that the easily-spouted “Mothers always love their children” is just really far from true. I know people like to uphold that mythology, and that’s one of the reasons I endured as much as I did as a child; no one wanted to believe a mother could treat a child like that.

Now, in the 21st Century, we know better, but we cling to that iconic imagery, which is nice. We don’t have to let that go. But we don’t have to ignore the suffering of children just to protect that imagery, thank goodness.

Anyway, this dream was a reunion with my mom after all of these years of deafening silence, save for the peripheral whispers I hear from some family members that she’s asked about me. Even as I was lying in my death bed a couple of years ago, she couldn’t gather the courage and love to reach out. So this dream was pretty profound to have out of nowhere.

THE DREAM:

Apparently, in the process of setting up this reunion in the dream, she had been asking about my work with the channeling and the Michael Teachings and wanted to know if I’d share all of that with her. So… my god, you can imagine. I was elated! To not only have this possibility of reunion, but also to have any kind of interest in my life… whoa.

I gathered up an armful of books and some paperwork to share with her, and I made my way to this reunion.

The address was some house; a Bed and Breakfast type situation. I entered and went to the room where we were to meet, which was open, and I sat on the edge of a bed.

I waited. And waited. I thumbed through my books nervously, and my cautious excitement about a reunion began to fade into anxious worry. After an hour of waiting, I got up and left the room to see if I could find out if she had called someone, left a message,… something.

I went downstairs to find the host of the house intending to ask if she had heard anything, and was greeted with a huge grin, soft eyes as she walked toward me with anticipation, “Well,… so how is it going? Is everything okay?” I replied with some confusion, “Actually, she hasn’t shown up, yet. I was wondering if you’ve heard from her?” The woman retracted her smile and offered concern, instead, saying, “Honey, she was here before you were. She was waiting for you in the room. She even brought lunch!” I explained that I’d been sitting up there for over an hour with no one.

We climbed the stairs back to the room.

As I neared the room, I noticed the door was ajar, which I had closed, and as I opened the door, the breeze from a now-open window was catching bits of paper, swirling them about the room. The bed was littered with the pages of my books, torn up, and my notebooks pulled apart. The closet door was now open, too, and on the floor of the closet were wrappers from an eaten lunch.

She had been sitting in the closet the entire time, waiting for me to leave the room so she could destroy the materials she had asked for me to bring. Apparently, at some point after I left the room to see if she had called, she had poked her head out the door to make sure the coast was clear, destroyed my work, and then climbed out the window onto to the roof, down a trellis to the ground.

I just sat on the edge of the bed, resigned. And I wondered why do I always think “this time, it will be different.” It never is. Not even in waking life.

END OF DREAM

Anyway, for this to come roiling up from my subconscious after so many years is an interesting thing for me to ponder. I think it’s because I am at a cross-roads of my future and past, right now. Either my past is going to destroy my future, or I am going to release the past to its place of rest so that I can move on. The thing is, I always think I have moved on, but if you have ever experienced any kind of life-altering, devastating wounding, you know how insidious and persistent that infection can be. I don’t really know if we ever truly “move on” from that.

This song came up randomly today and the dream came rushing back in. It’s not completely relevant, but a couple of lines hit home, capturing that abandonment of that only source of security and safety in the world you have as a child, which I think has a profound, long-term effect on the life after that, no matter how healed you may become. It’s like losing your legs. You can find so many ways to heal and get around later in life, but the fact remains: you still lost your legs.

I lost my mom. I should never have expected I would “get over” that. I probably never will. And that’s what’s okay. I can still manage to get around, and I do… quite well.

So this song goes out to all of my friends, and the parts of my family who kept The Runt, and doesn’t think he’s scum…

THE RUNT by Chris Garneau

[See post to listen to audio]

You don’t see this every day

Lions close their cat eyes too
They sleep the same as lovers do
I don’t know how I got here
But I know where I have to go
But I know where I have to go

Raccoon babes get left behind
Sometimes the runt’s too small
For moms to care a little bit
For moms to care at all
For moms to care at all

But you, you kept the runt
You don’t think he’s scum
You’re worried in the morning
You’re worried in the afternoon
And you’re worried in the nighttime too

His little dirty feet stink bad
The popcorn smell makes your nose sad
I don’t know how he got here
But I’m scared he’ll wind up dead
But I’m scared he’ll wind up dead

Lions close their cat eyes too
They sleep the same as lovers do
I don’t know how I got here
But I know where I have to go
But I know where I have to go

You kept the runt
You don’t think he’s scum
He’s wasted in the morning
He’s wasted in the afternoon
And he’s wasted in the nighttime too

You kept the runt
You don’t think he’s scum
He’s wasted in the morning
He’s wasted in the afternoon
And he’s wasted in the nighttime too

You don’t see this every day

THE RUNT