Last night I dreamt the worst dream. My Gramma had died and her funeral was being held in England. I was playing the piano for her, weeping through the whole ceremony. It was a closed-casket funeral and I kept saying, she's not really dead, she's not really dead. And everyone kept telling me, yes she is. I asked to see her. I wanted to see proof because I knew, I knew she couldn't leave like that. It couldn't end like that. She's 80, yes. But she's very much alive and kicking. She's not sickly. She's sane (mostly). She's an essential part of my life. She will not just die. But in this warped reality, she had. And dream self could not handle it. I tossed and turned and sweated and cried and it was devastating. And you know how in those first seconds after resurfacing from a serious dream you can't remember what's true or not. If that really happened. It felt real. It felt terrible. And I just wanted to sleep to erase the horrible idea that my beloved Grandmother could leave me ever.
My eyes closed and the onslaught continued. This time I was late for the funeral and they wouldn't let me play the piano. I told them over and over that she would want that. She would want to hear me play. She loved it when i played. But they said they had the ceremony under control and I wasn't needed. Even mom told me to stop. I cried and wept and then I realized the casket was closed again. It was as though I'd had a dream within a dream. My dream self remembered the previous dream in this reality and was horrified that it could be true that Gramma was dead again. I told them to open the casket. I still thought they were lying. Playing tricks on me. And that's when they told me... no, she wasn't dead. YET. But she was scheduled to drop any minute. They were getting the funeral out of the way now because there might not be time for it later. This was a chance for everyone to say goodbye. Gramma appeared next to me out of nowhere like the ghost she was about to become. I told her that this was her funeral. She said, yeah I know. It's time. Laughing and smiling and giggling like this was the best idea ever. I said, but you're not dead yet. And you're never going to die. And she said yes I am. And at some point everything shifted and I realized that this was not just her funeral. It was her euthanism. At the end of the ceremony she was expected to crawl into her casket and be buried. Alive. I freaked out, naturally. Insane people. I yelled at everyone as they sang hymns. It was as though I was invisible. I kept telling them, this is not how it happens. You don't bury people alive because it might be inconvenient to bury them after they're dead. No, you wait... and you spend every possible minute with them while they're alive. you celebrate their life. You don't take it prematurely. I stopped Gramma from her singing and dancing and shook her. Do you know what they plan on doing? I asked her. Do you understand? they're going to kill you! And she smiled and said, I know I know. I'm old. It's better this way. I freaked out again. How could she be so cavalier about being murdered. This is not how it happens.
I woke up desperate to hear my Gramma's voice. I called her. She's fine. But the nauseous feeling clawed at my insides for a long time before I was ok again. I'm not ready to lose my Gramma. She's been hugely influential in my life. I love her so much. One day, I know, I will have to say goodbye. (The very thought of that puts me in tears). But when that time comes, I hope I have time to get used to the idea. I hope I have lots of time. I pray my Gramma lives to see my children and their children at least. But I prefer forever.
