Dreams · Musings


In the morning hours, as I lay in a place of not yet awake, I thought of a friend who had triplets in the midst of the end of the marriage.  I dreamed of three baby boys in a bathtub.  Who knows what this means?

One day, the last day ever I saw her, she told me how much she loved the man who had left me, at that moment I could no longer be friends with her, it was too painful.

Why would I throw aside a friendship, for a woman that I threw a baby shower for, that I knit sweaters for her babies not yet born, though I loved her dearly?

How can you love a man who would park his car, with his family inside, on train tracks, take out the keys, get out of the car, lock it and leave his family to be crushed by the oncoming train?  We had no time to get out, no warning.  He walked away unharmed.   Saying some time later, I am happy now.  Of course you are happy, you walked away without the body cast, the internal injuries, there was no recovery for you, you moved on immediately, hopped into another woman’s car and drove off, leaving us to die on the rails.

I have this other friend, we have grown apart, she was another friend who came with the failed marriage.  I feel badly to think we have grown apart, but she has not really initiated any contact with me in ages, and she is cold when I try to.  I think of her as the sun rises in my mind, she was one who said, while we lay shattered on the tracks, get up and walk already, the crash is over.  It is hard to love people like this, isn’t it?

And I know.  Now I have been walking for a while, and the external injuries have healed, and the internal injuries have healed, but scars still remain, the broken pieces of our shattered lives have been glued back together and life goes on for us.  As it always has, as it always will.  But still it is on my mind, even in my unconscious mind, even when I wish it would disappear forever.  Just like he did.  His callous disregard for the people who loved him for 11 years is not deserving of my regard for him still after 4 1/4 years of his absence; and yet, and yet, my mind goes back to those moments just before we came to the tracks, when he said he loved me, when he said everything he did he did for his girls, when I believed, how could I have been so stupid?

How could I have been so unaware?

How can I not have moved on all the way yet?  What is wrong with me?  Why can I not just stop?  It’s as though somehow I am tethered to the wreckage.  As though I died and my ghost, unresolved cannot fly up to heaven.   As though I lived but a vital piece of me was left there on the tracks.  Its as though I lived, but a huge piece of the train is forever embedded in my rib cage.

The weight of it is exhausting.

But I cannot put it down, no matter how hard I try.

Someone, please tell me, what must I do to be rid of this?




7 thoughts on “Trainwreck

  1. Meg, I don’t know if this is literal or figurative, and it doesn’t matter – it expresses the pain that is embedded in you once you have broken – or been broken, for as much as we all like to think that another person cannot break us, they can. I know. I am trying to heal too. And it is a slow and perilous journey fraught with covered pits in the middle of the path. Have you explored the possiblity of a shamanic soul retrieval? I am a shaman in training, and while this is not something that I do, something in me says that it might be very valuable for you. If you would like to, you can email me at seasweetie@gmail.com.

  2. Meggy, Mom died 59 years ago in September and I have trouble talking or thinking about her after all these years. I think, to survive, you have to create a little spot in your mind where you can shut the sadness, pain, memories in . I go there occassionally, but not often, because I don’t like the hurt that it causes. Sometimes something or someone reminds me and the door pops open and there it is………I dwell on it for a few minutes and cry, and then put it back in the little space I’ve designated for it. Recently I asked Uncle Georgie about Mom and his reply was…..”I’ve blocked it, Sis. I try not to remember . It hurts too much.” I don’t know if this helps, but it’s the way I survive……….it’s the way Georgie survives……….you acknowledge it and then say…………go home………go back into your box………..
    I love you..

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