I woke up abruptly from a dream I can’t remember. I’m anxious. I Try to remember the dream. Was it a flashback dream? Traumatic and graphic, filled with all the questions that still linger. Was it a dream of grief? Was my mother in it, still vibrant and alive. Sometime I have dreams where I feel she is trying to tell me something.
This morning it was about my mother, although I can’t remember the specifics. I just woke up missing her; sad and with a tear falling from my eye. It’s frustrating when I can’t recall the specifics but I am sure she was here, as she always used to be. Even if I can’t visually recall the dream, the emotions are real and raw. I miss her.
The anxiety doesn’t diminish as I become fully awake. It must be around my usual waking time. Time to take medications and get out of bed. Before I do I get a memory flash of the first time a panic attack reoccured for me after so long an absence.
I was at work, walking outside when it hit. I had just been on the phone listening and learning about my mother’s illness. Everything would be alright, it didn’t seem too serious; yet as I walked I became dizzy, stumbled, and couldn’t breathe. I made it back inside and sat at my desk, cold and shivering. I needed to go home and face what I was certain would be at least an onset of illness, and at worst certain death. I didn’t want it to happen here at work. I excused myself and drove home. White knuckled and scared, I somehow made it home to my apartment. I collapsed into bed and slept. The panic abated.
In hindsight I know that first new panic attack happened because I was worried about my mother. I felt helpless so far away, even though I knew she was in good hands. Surely I must have been overreacting. At the time I suppose I was, but things would turn out differently. Her illness took many twists and turns. I panicked at each phone call and update; and there would be many of both.
I had forgotten that first new attach just as I sometimes forget my mother is no longer with me. This morning I sit with grief. I miss my mother more than words can ever express, and I miss my life before that first new panic attack more than anyone will ever know.
All that’s left to do this morning after writing out these thoughts and feelings is sit with my tea, try and release some pain, and let my tears flow. This morning, like many mornings, I practice the art of silent crying.