Dreams, memories and the subconscious....

[fajrdrako]

Today I started reading a book that begins:

Death is outside life but it alters it: it leaves a hole in the fabric of things which those who are left behind try to repair.

This seemed to fit eerily with the dream I had last night. The book, if you're curious, is Miss Garnet's Angel by Salley Vickers. (London, 2000).

I dreamed about my friend Tovah. Some of you here knew her. I dreamed I was visiting Tovah in New York, which I used to do sometimes, and she was still alive, which pleased and surprised me, because even while talking to her in the dream I was aware that I had thought her dead. She wasn't well; there were medicines about, which alarmed me, but gave me hope that she'd be getting better soon. We were having a great conversation. We always did.

I left her apartment, and then realized when I got to the street that I'd forgotten something at her place. I turned to go back, but couldn't remember her apartment number, or find the right corridor to get there, or even be sure I was going into the right building. The more I tried to remember the way, to find her place again, the more she was gone.... And then I woke up, thinking: Why that dream? Why now?

It must be just about ten years since Tovah died. For some reason I have trouble remembering the exact dates when people who were important to me died. A sort of mental block. My mother died in mid-November 1982, I think; Frank in March, 1983; Tovah in... surely... late April, 1994. We'd been travelling in England together after the 1994 Dunnett gathering, and had a great time. I was planning to visit her in May. Somewhere between those dates, she died. I may not have been thinking about it, but obviously my subsconscious was aware.

I like the metaphor: that death is, literally, losing someone - losing track of their whereabouts - but they're still there, where you can't find them.

It ought to be comforting. It is, but... I find myself feeling lonely this evening, for no particular reason. Not sad, exactly, but melancholy. I have wonderful friends, most of them still alive. (Thank goodness for you!) But people are so fragile, so easy to lose and not find again. Like budgies, really.

Ten years, and I miss Tovah very much.

Comments

[dargie.livejournal.com]

Sadly, I never knew Tovah well, but she and I did correspond for some time after the '94 gathering. She was an amazing, wonderful person. But I know just what you mean. What persists, for me, after the death of someone you care about, is the conviction that it's a bad joke, or some elaborate hoax what I couldn't be let in on for some reason. But I'm sure that if I just look in the right place, or even just wait long enough, I'll find out what really happened, and then there'll come a day when we'll get together and laugh about it. Only you never do.

[monsieureden.livejournal.com]

That's an accurate way of putting it. One of the hardest for me was when a friend committed suicide, but I was out of touch with the friend at the time, and I didn't hear about it til well after the funeral. Talk about getting no closure. It's almost as if he just up and vanished.

[dargie.livejournal.com]

Suicide. It's been one of those persistent themes in my life with a close relative, and a very dearly loved friend both following through, and a number of other friends attempting or requiring suicide watches. Nothing shakes you out of yourself like the suicide of someone you care about.

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

It's so hard, for the person at the centre of it, and everyone around them. And no easy answers. *hugs*

[monsieureden.livejournal.com]

Yeah. The eternal blame game. Hard to ever put it to rest completely.

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

That's so difficult. You must always wonder if you could have made a difference - but there's no changing what happened. So much to wonder about, and an unfinished life seems like unfinished business.

[monsieureden.livejournal.com]

Yes, I do wonder sometimes. I'm sure I couldn't have done much - I was a teenager and he was in his twenties. I suppose we were already semi illegal, though it never occurred to me. We got along exceptionally well but I knew he was unhappy and insecure. Unfortunately I was young and too wrapped up in my own life to really understand the depths of it.

I didn't choose to lose contact with him. One day I called him and there was a message on his machine (in his voice) saying he'd been evicted and that we'd find him dead in the street (did I mention we were in theatre together? I had a hard time knowing if he was serious or just being dramatic). The next time I called the line was disconnected.

Sometimes I think if I'd been older, wiser, I might have been able to do something. But you just never know. I like to think that I at least provided him with some joy (being the perky sixteen year old I was) in an otherwise dreary life.

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

She was an amazing, wonderful person.

No argument from me on that! One of my favourite people ever.

the conviction that it's a bad joke, or some elaborate hoax what I couldn't be let in on for some reason.

Yes. The unreality of it persists and never turns into a reality you can feel. The person ought to be right there, like they used to be, and the fact that they aren't never meshes with your world view.

And P.S., not to embarrass you or anything, but you're another one of those "amazing, wonderful" people I've met through Dunnett fandom. So... take care of yourself, okay? Don't get lost.

[dargie.livejournal.com]

Thank you, sweetie. I'll do my best if you promise to do the same.

[fajrdrako.livejournal.com]

Absolutely. I promise.