Thursday, October 15, 2015
Dreams of dying
I woke from a dream about Doris Brunson Thursday morning. I dreamed she was very old and she was with her mother, there were tubes going into her nose, her mother was holding her hand and telling her she was going to die.
Doris Brunson was the mother of my best friend when I was a little girl. Beth and I played with our barbies, she was going to marry Peter Tork and I was going to marry Davy Jones (The Monkees, remember?). We had sleep overs and Mrs. Brunson took us to school every day. We were the best of friends for a long time. Then high school... Beth was the smart girl, National Honor Society, scholarships, awards, clubs kinda girl. I wanted to go out dancing at the discos and buy clothes and I worked. I didn't study, I didn't practice piano. Her mother was more strict than mine. We grew apart. But I have thought about her from time to time and remember our friendship fondly. He mother was kind and I imagine had a pretty good idea what was going on behind the closed doors of my house. When we were a part of the initial integration of schools, Beth was the first person I knew to invite a black friend home. Carol. The neighbors talked. I was proud to know her.
My mom sent an email Thursday night saying that Doris Brunson had died..... I have not thought about this woman in years and the day before she died, I dreamed of her. I can't shake that from my mind..... So I am heading back to the beach for two funerals on Saturday.
22 years ago, my dad was buried and now I will sit through two funerals on the anniversary of that date. A dear friend of my mom and step father also died this week, also a mother of childhood friends. Mary's son taught me to swim. Her funeral is just hours apart from Mrs. Brunson's. I feel like I should be there out of respect for my childhood friends and their beloved mothers.
I don't want to go. My dad died twenty two years ago today and the pain of his loss just never goes away. They say time heals, but it does not heal the pain of a girl losing her daddy. I think of him and miss him every single day. I don't know how I will get through these funerals, but I'll put on my big girl pants and manage I suppose. It will for sure be a mind fuck, being with my mom on this day. The long ride home on Sunday will ease my mind, those cotton fields and farm stands and the leaves just turning their golden fall colors. And I will remember the countless times I rode in the backseat of our car, snuggled under an old quilt as my dad drove with his right hand, left hand holding a cigarette, flicking the ashes out of the cracked window, singing along to whatever country music 8 track tape there was playing, the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile.
Always a smile......
life is for the living ya'll, so get out there and live, its a short visit.