fairymarsh1

Shitted up in Barnsely

Last night I woke up from a deep sleep, my mind running and turning considering the images it had just created. I seemed to be in John Grace street, now emptied from all of Grans possessions, bare and the heart ripped from the place. Memories scattered around. I’m alone at the bottom of the stairs and I sense another presence in the household. I know it is from beyond the grave, somewhat strange....almost evil. I know the feeling within me as it fills my entire body. I know this will be a one off experience so I am compelled up the stairs and the feeling starts to grow. When I walk into the back bedroom it reaches a new level, consuming me totally. I know what is about to happen, I’ve suspected all along.

Gran appears. I’m horrified and in shock. I can’t remember if I still feel the same way but I am gripped in an emotional state, tense, I just stand there, numb. She starts to speak.
‘Ach.....will you no’ ask me how I’m doing?’ A typical Gran line. I sit beside her. We start to chat...she explains she’s in a beautiful place. I assume she’s just been admitted to heaven or something.

It’s terrible but I really had little knowledge of her pretty deeply believed Christianity before her funeral last month. It hardly is high on the agenda of conversation and rarely crops up. I find it almost impossible to attach myself to an invisible force, as much as I want to. It would make life much easier and the reassurance of life after death is quite appealing. However I would need to be totally convinced of this before devoting myself. Else I would consider myself a hypocrite or untrue to myself. At the funeral I didn’t sing any of the lyrics for the hymns for this reason, although I hummed to some of the tunes. I noticed similar activity in Scott as we both paid our respects in a non-religious way.

Partly influenced by the selection of speeches at the funeral that seem to appear in my mind for some reason, I decide to talk to her about Christianity. The next section of the dream is in a haze but I still can see her getting more and more offended at whatever it is I’m saying. This is the main bit that’s shitting me up at the moment. I should be using this opportunity to say a final goodbye, whispering a word of love or joking around like we used to do. I’m getting emotional now as I’m writing this. It all was so real.

I can’t remember how the conversation ended or our parting words, but there is a vague impression of her referring me not going to heaven. The conversation had started on such good terms and I’m unsure of the ending. I still feel an underlying love tainted with offence.

The next thing I’m walking down the stairs. I’m unsure if I’m free of the presence or feeling that has been possessing me. Dad is in the frontroom looking through a remaining file or some papers that have been left behind. I don’t think before I talk but I pause momentarily.
‘Dad...I think I should tell you this...but I’ve just seen Gran’ As soon as these words leave my lips I decide how ridiculous this must sound, although I receive waves of understanding that are emulating from him. Understanding of both of our great loss. I can’t remember his response but it had the word ‘fantasy’ drowned with grief and understanding. It’s a cloudy memory but I must have reeled off a string of words, their meaning replaced by emotion. Emotion of desperation. I sense the cauldron of sympathy and understanding that is emulating from him mixed with a tone of a reassuring vibe as he continues to flick through the paper.

The next thing I know I’m with Neil who’s being very understanding and is a calming influence, injecting some kind of logic or from another, more stable, reasonable plain. After listening to my account of the event he says words to the effect of that I will never know and probably never will do. I know I will be wondering about this encounter for the rest of my life. The screen then turns an orangy, yellowy colour and the dream is over. I am in a limbo state, trapped between two states conscious. My consciousness starts to seep into the part of me that still believes this is an actual encounter. This state of reality takes up about 80% of my mind and the consciousness mixes with this state of reality and I start to take in what I’ve just witnessed. This forms a kind of debate in my mind and I initially decide to become a Christian and feel guilty. As more consciousness mixes with the dream like state the trance gets diluted and I start to realise my values, that is an uncertain stance on deep rooted questions of life. I still think this encounter is real, partly due to the first thing she said to me. It’s so Gran, it’s untrue. More consciousness pours in and I debate whether this is subconscious contained in my brain and has just surfaced. Perhaps it was mentioned in the funeral as this seems to have been related to some of the other events.

I wake up from my deep sleep and it takes me around fifteen seconds to gather my bearings. At first I think I’m in Coventry but I realise I am in Barnsley as I recognise the rounded corners of the mattress and the red sheets. Relief overcomes me. A dream is a better state and quite a logical explanation. I’ve snapped out of one reality to another.

I lie awake, afraid and insecure. Gradually I begin to think about what could have provoked such an encounter. Perhaps I am just coming to terms with the fact that she’s actually gone, it’s the Christianity thing that most shits me up. Why was it there? Aspects of television programmes on dreams float around. Vague images of American scientists rambling about REM and what they (dreams) actually mean. I cannot remember enough to secure any real meaning to the episode but i know the meaning is deep within me, possibly struggling to get out or only just surfacing after being dormant since receiving news of her death. Perhaps the initial relief surrounding the circumstances in which she died, in great pain, is wearing off and I’m facing the facts. Perhaps.

I remember spending time thinking about how brittle our bodies are. Fragile, and how limited our time here actually is. I still deeply regret the manor of my goodbye and mumble ‘love you Gran’ before diving under the covers.