But I persevere, still

How A Lifetime of Haunting Dreams Has Exhausted My Soul

A life lived with a different kind of purpose

The Beginning

When I was just a young teenager of 14 years old, I lost my 37 year old father to cancer. Three years later, I lost my 6 year old brother to a brain tumor.

It was horrific to watch and be a part of both events.

It was extremely difficult to tell my uncle that I didn’t want to go to the hospital to see my dad, who wanted to talk to me, because I was terrified. He died the next day, and I’ll never know what he wanted to tell me.

It was even more horrific to have to carry my partially paralyzed and speechless brother to the kitchen so he could point to what he wanted to eat. A few weeks later, he died.

I vividly remember carrying his weakened body in my arms, and seeing the innocence of his soul in his beautiful brown eyes slowly drain out and be replaced with fear. Even now, as I write this, my heart is going into a panic rhythm that is difficult to control, and my eyes are tearing up. . .and this was 41 years ago.

The Dreams

I have dreams.

Not the kind that refer to aspirations of something greater. No, my dreams come at night, while I am in medicated slumber and unable to protect myself from them.

In some ways, these dreams are good dreams. They give me some comfort, and some forgiveness for wrongs for which my logical mind knows I falsely take responsibility.

On the other hand, when they end and the emotional connection I established in the dream is severed, I am hit even harder by the loss I experienced and just relived in my dream.

The dreams come and go, but usually appear during times I feel deep anxiety and stress. They also come on what I call “anniversaries.” Although these are not the kinds of events that normal people usually celebrate.

I wouldn’t call what I do a “celebration” either. But it is closer to one than you would expect. And those of you who have suffered significant trauma in your life probably know what I am talking about.

I try to deal with these dreams by keeping to certain rituals. These rituals help to keep me alive.

Rituals to Help

My rituals include the normal things like washing my face, brushing my teeth, changing into my sleeping attire, and getting some water.

Typically, a ritual is a “religious or solemn ceremony consisting of a series of actions performed according to a prescribed order.” Oxford Dictionary

I consider my rituals as the “solemn” part of that definition.

Many of us do these things in an order without thinking. But if we miss a step, we start to feel off balance. For instance, if you are distracted by something, you may go to bed forgetting to brush your teeth. As you lay there, you realize something is off. Once you figure it out, you can’t get to sleep until you get up and brush your teeth.

My ritual, unfortunately, includes the taking of certain medications that help me with panic and anxiety disorders, and that help me sleep. However, they don’t stop the dreams.

To try and stop the dreams, I pray to whatever God is out there that would take the life of an innocent, beautiful 6 year-old boy who brought the world nothing but joy, that I don’t “suffer” from the recurring dreams that haunt my sleep. Painful, difficult, realistic, hopeful dreams.

The Haunting by Dad

Tragedy never takes a vacation. It haunts me in my dreams to this day.

Ever since the day I suffered the loss of my Dad, I have had these recurring dreams where I “find” my father alive somewhere. When my brother died, I began dreaming of finding him alive as well.

In the dream of my Dad, when I find him, there is a moment of absolute shock, which is then overcome by pure, unadulterated joy. I begin to cry and hug my father, begging him to tell me why he left. He hugs me back, a deep and loving hug, one I feel to my very soul. He then releases me, and speaks in the dream, but I never understand him.

Soon, he starts to walk away and dissolves into the mist. During this time, I try to run to him, to stop him, but I am locked into position and can’t chase him. I find myself screaming at him, “Dad, wait, please! I have so many questions! I need you. What did you want to tell me! Please!”

He doesn’t look back, and I wake up, my heart beating wildly and tears streaming down my face. For a moment after I awake, I am convinced my father is still alive and I can find him.

But that feeling soon dissipates, just like my father did in my dream, and I am struck by an intense loneliness and feeling of emptiness. Soon, the intensity subsides, but the feelings remain. They always remain. They’re always there.

I have felt those feelings my whole life, even though I am now married with two kids, one an adult and one of them 14 years-old, the same age I was when I lost my father.

The Haunting by My Brother

A new, but similar, dream began when my brother died. In that dream, I was responsible for his death.

Logically, I know I was not, because I didn’t cause his brain tumor. But of course, logic had nothing to do with it. Once again, my mind did what it wanted, despite my attempts to fight it.

In that dream, my brother is now grown into an adult. I still recognize him with no difficulty. I rush to him and hug him, and ask him where he has been. He just looks at me with a smile on his beautiful, peaceful face. An intense feeling of love comes from his body, glowing like a warm and comfortable star, it wraps me in a loving, peaceful cocoon. . .like a swaddled baby.

I revel in the feeling. It’s as if I have been in pain my whole life, and for the first time, I no longer feel that pain. My body relaxes from tension I didn’t even know was there. The feeling is indescribable.

He releases me and soon I begin to cry and apologize for not being a better brother. He reaches out his hand and places it on my shoulder and looks deep into my blues eyes with his clear, chestnut brown eyes. And for just a moment, my guilt, my despair, my loneliness. . .is gone.

After what feels like several moments in the dream, he turns and walks into the mist. I beg for him to return, sobbing again, guilt, despair, and loneliness slowly returning to me.

It’s then that I awake, just like after I dream of my father. I am clutching my body pillow in the hug I wanted to feel again from them both. And I am quietly sobbing for my loss.

While those dreams are agonizingly emotional for me, I understand it is part of my mind’s way of helping me cope with the loss of my father and brother.

The Ritual Celebrations of The Haunting Dreams

When I first became a father, and then again nine years later when I became a father for the second time, I developed another ritual, this one concerning milestones, and a little morbid.

When both of my sons reached the age of six, I calculated what date they would both be the exact age my six year old brother died. Then I added a day.

The days leading up to these “milestones” were filled with anxiety, panic, and fear. I knew I was being illogical, but it didn’t matter to my mind. My children had to live past the age my brother was when he died.

When that date came for each of my sons, even though it was 9 years apart, I secretly celebrated by sobbing into my pillow with no one around, both times. My relief was palpable, but I knew other milestones lay ahead, and the relief was short-lived. I had to immediately start preparing for the next milestones.

My fathers birthday is one day after mine. When I turned 37 years old, I calculated the day I would be one day older than him when he passed. On that day, I once again celebrated by secretly sobbing into my pillow. I had made it. I lived longer than my father. Today, I celebrate that my kids have lived longer than my brother.

But I still had one more date with which to reconcile. It was the date that I celebrated my 14 year old reaching one day older than I was when my Dad died, just like I did with his older brother.

That date recently came and went. And I celebrated like I usually do. . .alone, quietly sobbing into my pillow.

When that day came to pass, it was my hope those dreams would no longer haunt me, and I could live with out the anticipation that my children will have to go through what I went through. Living without their father.

Then, maybe, just maybe, I could stop taking the pills prescribed to me that keep my anxiety and panic in check, and look forward to other milestones for my children. Like graduating college, jobs, moving out, marriage, daughters-in-law and, most importantly, grandchildren.

Have the Dreams Disappeared?

My Mother passed naturally several years ago. Her passing was also unexpected and too early, but the time I had with her left me with no regrets or guilt. I don’t dream haunting dreams of her, but I do dream of her.

I haven’t dreamed the haunting dreams again, yet. But my anxiety isn’t over. I now have to wait for the day I know my family bloodline lives on in my grandchildren. And, yes. that is important for me.

After experiencing this kind of death, this close to me, at such a young age, life took on a whole new meaning. And it became the meaning behind my whole life. To make sure my children live on, and they don’t have to suffer my tragedies.

I know someday I’ll be gone. That is certain. But I plan on giving my kids my full attention so that when it happens, they remember the love and the laughter, and don’t exhaust their souls by dreaming the dream of death.

CJ Kowalski is the father of two fantastic sons. He is a former Southern California police officer and lawyer. CJ is sort of retired(is anyone ever REALLY retired?). He can be reached at [email protected]. He is also the owner and editor of the new Medium publication, copforum, for which he would happily accept appropriate submissions. Comments to this article are encouraged and welcomed. He’d love to know your thoughts. And why am I writing this in 3rd person?