Blind Spot

There was tension.  Uncertainty.  I was with family, and shocking news had just been delivered.  One of our loved ones was believed to have died.  An accident.  A fatal accident had occurred. 

I felt my heart ripping into pieces. Pressure clutched my chest.  I felt short of breath. Agonizing.  I uttered inarticulate words, making no sense to the few that may have heard my anguished voice.  Nothing made sense.  My pain was too great. I could not focus.  I gasped, struggling for air—and for life.  

A cry of my despair echoed throughout the room as I stared in disbelief at my loved one’s body lying inert on the hospital stretcher.  Feeling close to fainting, I gasped—until my terrified eyes were finally torn open, wide...  

I abruptly woke up. I realized I had been dreaming.  A bad dream that seemed to last for  hours. 

Now awake, I reflected on the dream.  Emotionally, my pain had not subsided with each lucid minute that passed.  My loved one had tragically died ten years ago, but the dream brought back the agony as if news of the death had just been delivered to me. 

The grief is not over and it never will be.  Losing a loved one will leave its scar for lifetime. 

Approaching grief management under the Kübler-Ross’ model of the Five Stages (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) can be helpful in the process of healing.

But there will always be a blind spot. An emotional blind spot.

Specific events or situations can trigger those painful feelings manifesting itself in a dream; a terrifying, vivid dream like mine. Thankfully, I can find solace in my   awareness that events of the past are tempered in my spiritual beliefs, and strength to withstand unexpected moments of sorrow.   

My life goes on, enlightened with the certainty that the memory of my lost loved ones will forever be carried in my beating heart.  And the hope that they will be waiting to meet me once my heart grows still. 

After analyzing my dreadful dream, I hopped out of bed, energized by thoughts of having another delightful day in Hot Springs, Arkansas, where my husband and I were spending the weekend. 

I walked toward the window, feeling the crisp mat of new carpet under my bare feet.  Our room—room 608— was very clean and stylish, a clear sign of a recent renovation. 

I gazed out the window, mesmerized with the stillness of the quiet morning and misty cool breeze that wafted down from mountainside across street, boasting stately fir trees still adorned with traces of snow.  

I directed my view down to the streets.  I loved the captivating architecture of the historic buildings.  I thought of the natural spring water—that gives the town its name—flowing out of the ground at a temperature of 147 °F.  I indulged myself in reading of the town’s intriguing history of gambling and gangsters.

“Are you ready for breakfast?” My husband voice displaced my thoughts of the town and replaced them with visions of a delectable meal.

“Sure!” My voice carried with it the relishing thought of breakfast at The Pancake Shop across the street.

As we waited for our breakfast, I reached for my cup of coffee. I loved watching the way the steam swirled around the brim of the cup.  Even more, I loved the rich and warm coffee aroma drifting from the cup. 

“I had a weird dream last night,” my husband mentioned to me.

I stared at him, unsure if I had understood him correctly.

“A weird dream?” I inquired, narrowing my eyes.

“I dreamed that my dad had died.”  He whispered, as he grabbed his coffee. “Just a bad dream, thankfully,” he said, taking a quick sip.

I blinked, speechless.  Scenes from my nightmare flickered in my mind. I took a deep breath.

“Yeah, good thing it was just a dream.”  I regained my composure.  I lifted the cup to my lips, taking a generous sip of my black coffee.  My mind flooded with intriguing thoughts as I envisioned my next Google search... 

Hot Springs Arkansas haunted hotels