You ever had that dream where you attend your own funeral and watch all your loved ones (and enemies) cry/gloat over your demise?
I've always wondered what that would be like...We never really know how people feel about us, the people we think love us maybe they don't love us as much as we think...and the people we think hate us, maybe they are misunderstood. But it doesn't matter who you are or what you've done (unless you are a mass murder a la Pol Pot or Hitler) once you're dead all of a sudden you become saintly. People forget all the bad things and only remember the good, they make excuses for you and the things you've done, and they blame themselves for not treating you better. Maybe it comes from that whole De mortuis nihil nisi bonum "Don't speak ill of the dead" thing. We tend to glorify the dead maybe because we feel guilty about something we did to them in their life or maybe we miss them and there's nothing we can do about it so the only thing we can do is put our loved lost ones on a pedestal.
Lately I've been having a morbid obsession with this subject, maybe the death of my favorite uncle in May, my grandmother last week and the death of my relationship (which meant more to me than anything) has something to do with it all.I had a dream last night where I was dead (or maybe faking it?!) and I was at my graveside at Woodlawn Park next to my grandparents, my mom was crying my dad too and he was remorseful for the shitty way he's been treating me lately and for bugging out when I quit school this semester, he kept saying he was sorry and if he could have one more day with me he would make it up to me.And my (ex?) boyfriend was there too and he was wishing he'd spoken to me all those times I called him and left him tearful voice messages...he wished he'd let me know he was OK when I was frantic with worry when he cut me off to take his little "break". And as twisted as it sounds, I think I felt some kind of satisfaction by knowing they were remorseful, by knowing only now did they realize what they had in me....and then I thought...(in my dream/nightmare) what does it matter? I'm dead, I'll never be able to feel the warmth I used to feel from my dad before our relationship was stressed, I'd never be able to snuggle up to my baby and bask in his love. I think that's when I woke up...weird... Maybe I need to lay off the Ambien and Tequila!
"If I were dead and buried And I heard your voice, Beneath the sod My heart of dust Would still rejoice." -- Dalton Trumbo
I've always wondered what that would be like...We never really know how people feel about us, the people we think love us maybe they don't love us as much as we think...and the people we think hate us, maybe they are misunderstood. But it doesn't matter who you are or what you've done (unless you are a mass murder a la Pol Pot or Hitler) once you're dead all of a sudden you become saintly. People forget all the bad things and only remember the good, they make excuses for you and the things you've done, and they blame themselves for not treating you better. Maybe it comes from that whole De mortuis nihil nisi bonum "Don't speak ill of the dead" thing. We tend to glorify the dead maybe because we feel guilty about something we did to them in their life or maybe we miss them and there's nothing we can do about it so the only thing we can do is put our loved lost ones on a pedestal.
Lately I've been having a morbid obsession with this subject, maybe the death of my favorite uncle in May, my grandmother last week and the death of my relationship (which meant more to me than anything) has something to do with it all.I had a dream last night where I was dead (or maybe faking it?!) and I was at my graveside at Woodlawn Park next to my grandparents, my mom was crying my dad too and he was remorseful for the shitty way he's been treating me lately and for bugging out when I quit school this semester, he kept saying he was sorry and if he could have one more day with me he would make it up to me.And my (ex?) boyfriend was there too and he was wishing he'd spoken to me all those times I called him and left him tearful voice messages...he wished he'd let me know he was OK when I was frantic with worry when he cut me off to take his little "break". And as twisted as it sounds, I think I felt some kind of satisfaction by knowing they were remorseful, by knowing only now did they realize what they had in me....and then I thought...(in my dream/nightmare) what does it matter? I'm dead, I'll never be able to feel the warmth I used to feel from my dad before our relationship was stressed, I'd never be able to snuggle up to my baby and bask in his love. I think that's when I woke up...weird... Maybe I need to lay off the Ambien and Tequila!
"If I were dead and buried And I heard your voice, Beneath the sod My heart of dust Would still rejoice." -- Dalton Trumbo
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