Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom Goes Off The Deep End, And Is Currently In Free Fall

Okay. Here's the warning. The disclaimer. Don't come suing me when you have nightmares. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is not some socially acceptable horror taler like Stephen K. Nope. She's rough around the edges, like those crusty bunion callouses in the foot-shaver commercials. Nothing pretty here. Nothing tied up, all loose ends accounted for, with a pretty pink bow. No sirree, Bob. Mrs. HM does not write fiction. She tells tales from the trenches. In this case, her bed-wallow. Now is your chance to turn around. If you thought that part about Gage in Pet Semetary was unnerving, you don't want to go here. No need to subject yourself to unnecessary nightmares. Turn back now.

Thing is, it was only a dream for me. Not a nightmare. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

There are some things in this world that can't be understood. Can't be explained. The noises and happenings in the Mansion are some of them. Mrs. HM was always scientific. One who must have evidence to believe. Ghost? Surely you jest. Until the unexplained came a-knockin'. But this vignette is not so much about the unexplained as it is about Mrs. HM's subconscious. Her dream life. Her way of working out grief, perhaps. So whether you believe in the Sweet Hereafter, Eternal Life, Reincarnation, Valhalla, Nothingness, Nirvana, Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Paradise, The 144,000 Chosen, Non-being, Summerland, or An Infinite Dirt Nap...this revelation has nothing to do with religion. It is one woman's dream from Friday night/Saturday morning, between 2:00 and 3:30 a..m.

Enter at your own risk.

The first part wasn't a dream. The Pony and I were watching our DVR of King of the Nerds. We had started it around 8:20, so we could fast-forward the commercials. The Pony, as always, was on his bargain couch with his laptop open, glancing up at the TV at opportune moments. I was in my blue recliner controlling the fast-forwarding. Between 8:30 and 9:00, we heard a giant THUMP above our heads.

"Um. Yeah. There it is," said The Pony, raising his eyebrows.

Normally, we hear footsteps. But this was a heavy THUMP. Like somebody jumping off the top of a bunk bed. Like somebody just getting used to coming from one dimension to another. Unsure of how much energy was needed. Not understanding the powers of manifestation. Rather than being in the area of #1's bedroom that runs alongside his bed, this THUMP was right in front of his door. Like a step in from the hallway. It was the only noise we heard. No more.

I dreamed about Mom that night. It was one week to the day since we had buried her. After a 2:00 service and a short drive to the cemetery. We were out of there by 3:30. The dream was as follows...

I was sitting at my New Delly in my dark basement lair. It was night time. I thought everyone else had gone to bed. Then I heard a voice. It sounded just like my mom. I knew that there were only guys in my house. I went out of my office and into the main basement area. There was my mom, in the blue recliner, but in the area by the steps where #1's desk is usually parked.

Mom was sitting relaxed in the chair with her right leg crossed over her left, having a casual conversation with Farmer H and the #1 son and The Pony. Her hair was poofy, like when she was in her late 30s, like in one of the old school pictures Sis had at the funeral home, from when Mom taught 4th grade.

In this dream, Mom was obviously not alive, but neither was she a see-through ghost. She had on no clothes, but was not at all concerned or even aware. She had a big "Y" incision closed with big black stitches on her chest. She was gesturing with her hands, like she always talked, saying, "No. That's not what I wanted. See my will." She was not agitated. Just talking matter-of-factly. I joined the group, and stood there at Mom's left, while the guys were kind of behind her chair.

We all talked a while, then Mom said it was time to go. She got up from the recliner and walked toward the steps. I walked along with her, like she used to walk us to the door of her house, and later, to the door of her room at the rehab center. At the foot of the stairs, Mom said, "It's time for me to go." Instead of walking up the steps, she turned right, towards the electric fireplace. And then she kind of turned into a genie-like column of vapor that still had her coloring, and went up the fireplace.

That dream was SO real! When I woke up at 3:30, it was like she had just been there. She was fine. Not alive, but fine. I was SO disappointed as that dream wore off. It was so real.

I couldn't believe that she was gone. Not that I thought she was alive. I just thought she was still in the house, so I could talk to her some more.

Yes. I know it's my way of working out my grief. That's why I just put it here, where my three readers can like it or lump it. I don't expect comments on my craziness.

It's something I had to do.


Sioux said...

I know you've met Snarky Sioux. Now, let me introduce you to Serious Sioux.

I think your mom was there. I think she returned. I think--since we only use 10% of our brain's capabilities--people are able to visit from time to time.

But that's me. Some people call "Serious Sioux" by her nickname: "Crazy Sioux."

Hillbilly Mom said...

It seems that a lot of folks like to drop in and visit me here at the Mansion. I just might be using 11% of my brain!

I'll take any kind of visit from Mom. I've only had a handful of dreams about my dad in the last 17 years. But right after he died, we had an epidemic of house-creaking snaps and pops, and nobody-there phone calls (he retired from Bell Telephone) and a plethora of dimes found all over the house (he collected coins).

Odd, the connections.