I think it is safe to say that I am a dreamer. More like dreaming in my sleep than being a daydreamer, although I do have a plan for when I win the lottery.
Throughout the years, I have had constant dreams about different subjects. After becoming an adult (whenever that was), I dreamed about the old days as a high school athlete. I had to quit sports my junior year for medical reasons, so I never fulfilled my athletic achievements. Hence, I became a sports writer. Naturally in these dreams, even at an advanced age, I dominate.
Since my wife, Teresa, passed away in January, I have been flooded with dreams of her. Some good, some bad. In the good dreams, Teresa is always able to walk again, which makes me feel good when I wake up. I guess it's all about searching for a sign that she is going to be okay.
Throughout the years that I have been with Teresa, I always told her about some of the more bizarre dreams that I had encountered. One of her favorites was one that has me going back to my hometown (Hot Springs, S.D.). In these dreams, I walk the main drag. I usually start around Norm's Pool Hall and end up at either Donnell's store, the Evans Hotel or even the Evans Plunge.
All this time there is a party going on, like a class reunion or a city celebration. Regardless, I would tell Teresa and she always got a kick out of it.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
What do I do now?
In a little over a week, I'll celebrate my 53rd birthday.
Fifty frickin three.
I'm not sure I like the sound of that. And celebrate? Hardly. What's to celebrate?
On my 52nd birthday, I had the day off and made the trek to Denver to visit Teresa, who was just a couple months into her year-long stay at the Colorado Acute Longterm Hospital. I had a hunch something might be going on when I walked past the nurses station as I got a few smiles and grins from the nurses, aides and physical therapists.
Actually I didn't have a clue, really. I say I did, but I'm just kidding myself. It sounds better when I say it.
Just a few minutes after my arrival, the whole nurses station seemed to come into Teresa's room where they sang happy birthday to me, did a little dance and gave me a cupcake with a candle in it. One of Teresa's nurses, Sue, made me a birthday hat from a Depends diaper. I wore it for them. I have proof with a picture that I will likely never show anybody again.
Teresa had it all planned out. I'd give anything to only be turning 52 in a week, instead of 53.
Fifty frickin three.
I'm not sure I like the sound of that. And celebrate? Hardly. What's to celebrate?
On my 52nd birthday, I had the day off and made the trek to Denver to visit Teresa, who was just a couple months into her year-long stay at the Colorado Acute Longterm Hospital. I had a hunch something might be going on when I walked past the nurses station as I got a few smiles and grins from the nurses, aides and physical therapists.
Actually I didn't have a clue, really. I say I did, but I'm just kidding myself. It sounds better when I say it.
Just a few minutes after my arrival, the whole nurses station seemed to come into Teresa's room where they sang happy birthday to me, did a little dance and gave me a cupcake with a candle in it. One of Teresa's nurses, Sue, made me a birthday hat from a Depends diaper. I wore it for them. I have proof with a picture that I will likely never show anybody again.
Teresa had it all planned out. I'd give anything to only be turning 52 in a week, instead of 53.
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