Nightmare

When I was in second or third grade, my father received his (second) Ph.D. My mother, sister and I gave him a plaster(?) statue of a tall seated lion, about a foot and a half from haunch to ear tips. It's gold tone, very handsome and elegant, with noble features. The lion sat in his office at work for many years and since then has had pride of place in the family home, seated either right next to the fireplace in the living room or -- as it is now -- in a niche that almost guards the entry way to my parents' condo. If there is any single inanimate object that speaks to me of my father and our family it is that statue.

I just woke from a dream in which I was walking past the lion and bumped it with my overlarge purse. It tipped over and broke into five or six large pieces. I dropped to my knees next to it and started not just to cry but cry out, "No!" I cried out a couple of times, each time louder, more urgently, more heartfelt. At one point I glanced up to see my mother and a couple of her female relatives standing with her, but it was as if I was looking through a window. The last time I cried out "No!" I could feel it come from the depths of my lungs and gut and bones. It ached, it came from so deep.

It woke me up, but the feelings of anguish and denial were so strong the ache carried into waking. I had had a bunch of vivid, active dreams prior to this one, and was certain it would be almost time to get up, but it was only a few minutes after twelve. I'd been asleep less than three hours.

Dreams like this make me want to call my parents and make sure my dad is okay, but I can't quite see calling them in the middle of the night because I've had a nightmare.

The grief I felt in the dream was more intense than my reaction to the death of any individual I have known in my life.

It's 12:28am, I'm wide awake, and I don't want to turn any lights off or go back to sleep.