Grandfather Shot January 12, 2003
When I had this dream I was very confused because I could not figure out who the people were. After having the drawing made of the couple connected to my father, I begin to see perhaps these people were my surrogate grandparents and they were at one time in charge of helping to protect me. He died doing so.
There were three of us and we were in a very confined space, it felt like we were hiding. The man reminded me of Patrick, the woman reminded me of myself as an adult and there was another woman I did not know.
I know it was not Patrick or myself in this situation, but in times of stress there is comfort in identifying with those I am most familiar. This woman insisted on being in the middle, closest to the man. The space seemed to shrink even more and somewhere in my mind we had changed. There was now a man, woman and small child, long blonde hair tied in a ponytail. I kept waking up, but the dream continued each time I fell back to sleep.
The final time I entered the dream we were about to cross a border between two countries. I don’t know which countries because I did not describe the countryside in my journal at that time. I’m not sure why this was important but we realized we were going to have a problem because of the way we were dressed. We were wearing clothes from a different era – 1940s or 50s, a time made more distinct in that both men and women almost always wore hats. Everything was in sepia tone, which could also be an indication of the era. I did not see anything in colour.
Suddenly the man started running, he was being chased and shots were fired. I don’t know what happened to us, but I had the feeling this man had died, although I did not see if that was what happened. My ability to recall events was made more difficult by the number of times I re-entered the dream. That in itself tells me the message was important because it is unusual to fall back into the same dream so many times. This seems to be a safer way for me to allow some of the memories to filter back. However, not being able to remember salient details is perhaps my minds’ way of protecting me from that which I am still not ready to accept.
It’s hard at times not to feel in some way responsible for the many people that seem to have died to protect me.
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