The tapestry of the life of a medically complex family


This morning, during that time of morning when you are nearly awake but not quite, I dreamt of visiting my grandparents’ home in New Jersey. When I realized where I was, I was standing in front of the bungalow with my kids in a wagon behind me. An older man was standing on the porch and talking to me and I told him that his home had been my Nana & Poppop’s when I was a child. He invited me in and I showed the kids the living room which was decorated for Christmas.

Part way into the living room, the scene changed. Suddenly the living room had my grandfather’s organ sitting on the south wall where it had always stood. The kitchen table was visible through the open kitchen door and upon it was the glass “spooner” that my Nana used to store her teaspoons. There were metal kid cups and bumpy amber glass ones for adults sitting on the table waiting for us.

I could hear a piano being played in the basement- meaning my Poppop was downstairs playing to entertain us- but we went out the back door so I could show the kids the tree in the center of the driveway, with its twisted trunk and lined bark. The driveway was still the same black gravel, with the narrow strip of yard on one side partially taken up by the laundry lines which were drying the day’s sheets. The yard was edged in a high, tight-planted hedgerow, a natural fence of sorts, high on the lawn-side next to the picnic table and low on the drive side, along the Rogers’ back lawn.

The rest of the dream was snippets of memories throughout the yard and house: a birthday party in the backyard, a circular swing hung from the twisted tree, a parade around the block dressed in clown costumes & house-dresses with bright red lipstick mouths. Indoors again was the same tour: Nana & her sisters and my Mom & aunt sitting at the table talking as they got dinner ready, Poppop sitting next to me and playing the organ, 5 glee-filled kids sitting on the stairs behind the door to upstairs WAITING to be let into the living room to see what had been brought by Santa.

I loved that house growing up. The neighborhood was flat and the tree-lined street was home to many families with children near our age. I remember playing some game where you throw an object into the air, calling out a name, and everyone but that person runs from the object. The person called catches the ball or bean bag, then yells “stop” and tries to throw it and hit one of the other players to make them “out”. Although I can’t remember the name of the game, I can remember the smell of the neighborhood, the squirrels running back and forth on the telephone wires that lined the road, and that we played that game in the street until long after dusk when we would transition to catching fireflies before being called in to sleep.

The strongest feelings I experienced while dreaming about Rumson were those of safety and security. It was a warm and comfortable place, filled with happy memories and people I have loved. I haven’t dreamt like that in such a long time. I wonder where I may travel another time I am blessed with sleep…


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