Last night I dreamt I was renovating my basement. It was not the basement from my current house, but the basement from the house I grew up in in Rock Hill, SC. A polite, bright eyed, pudgy African American woman was the potential architect of this project. I kept worrying that her all white suit was going to get soot or black mold on it from the basement. The basement was mostly as I consciously remember it, dark, damp and full of treasures in boxes. Upon remembering the washer and dryer were down there I got very excited about the promise of a new laundry room with a space for a table to fold my laundry.
Then I realized there was a sad presence with me. It was Chris. Just like so many dreams he appears in, he’s been dead, but come back to life. In this case he’s allowing me to make the choices about the renovations, but his presence makes the choosing strange.
I suppose it’s a message about change, worry, starting over and the ever present weight of the past. I’m not sure of the woman, but she seemed self-assured that the project would be a success. If I am every person in my dream, I’m sure this is a nod to my great sense of style and complete lack of practicality.
This theme is now a reoccurring one. Chris is alive, or more succinctly, undead. He’s sad and aloof, distant, but very present. Sometimes I spend the better part of my energy in the dream trying to figure out a way to keep him from dying again. I never succeed. More often now, he’s just this hovering presence, weighty and dysphoric.
Waking up from these dreams always leave me feeling melancholy. They seem to tug at a restlessness beneath the surface that still doesn’t make sense. Reality still doesn’t quite work. Where is Chris? Why doesn’t he call more often? How do I get in touch with him when I’ve got important decisions to be made?
There’s a storm on the horizon here at the beach. Aside from the dream, I was awakened often throughout the night by an obnoxiously noisy ceiling fan. There’s still hot coffee when I wake, the promise of delicious breakfast. Life goes on, even after confusing dreams and storms. In fact, that is life.