Surging Dream Tunnel

Monday, August 23, 2010

It's four in the morning, and the surging waves repeat in rhythm, coursing relentlessly into shore, crashing up against the cliff, disturbing precious sleeping hours once again.

Since last year, and Fredrick's death, I haven't been able to sleep a full night, or even a four hour cycle. The waves infiltrate my dreams, and I see him drowning in them again and again, his arm is raised, he's shouting for help, his mouth filling with foaming water...

I spring up from the bed, standing ready to leap into the surging water, an extra life jacket in my hands. I stand in the semi darkness, and scan the bedroom floor futilely, looking for the place where he went down, getting tensed for the throw, but the life jacket never lands.

The crashing water sounds fade, turn into silent, sometimes-creaking floor boards; the image of surging waves retreats outside the window, and I've awoken to a different place and time.

Over and over, every night, this experience wrenches me from sleep. I am exhausted, and wonder, how to prevent his death. I am ionized, adrenalized to save his life, but the environment swirls and changes at the last second.

I drag on sluggishly, in the daylight hours, feeling as though I am living a double life. One here, listless, empty, and unmotivated, and another, there, standing tensed, not-saving a drowning man in the surging surf.

Writing by Regina Stemberger

Photo "Manarola 2" by rayced

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