Yesterday I decided to follow the advice of my chiropractor and get a deep tissue massage. I looked up places in West Seattle and decided on a little studio on California Ave. It's fairly new, but I liked their stated approach. The LMP I got doesn't have a lot of post-school experience, but is one of those natural healers. Like my friend who does acupuncture out of the Maya studio in the Fremont, she has a calming energy about her, that puts one immediately at ease and in a trusting space. I had a nice wakeup call the other morning in the form of my left knee threatening to buckle as I was taking out the garbage - I need to attend to my own oxygen mask before assisting others. As one who instinctively helps others, I need to realize I can't do much good in a weakened state. So now I have my team... family doc, acupuncture (for which I'm woefully overdue), chiropractor and now a massage practitioner. All but the family doctor were my choices, and they all happen to be women. I think when it comes to healing, I respond better to female energy. Interesting, but probably not uncommon.
Drove the whole West Seattle clan out to Shilshole last night for a birthday celebration on board Volant. We had a favorite meal of my dad's: lemon chicken, mashed potatoes, brocolli, caesar salad and olive bread. Music alternated between John Denver and Pavarotti - surreal, yes, but he was that ecclectic. We crowded eight of us around that settee below, chowed down and told stories about my dad (aka Grampa Bear to the kids). Dessert took the form of a lemon sheet cake with this lemon sauce that dad used to tease the kids with, telling them it was made from banana slugs.
Had some trouble with Tyler at bedtime. He's trying that boundary push again, just making sure I'm paying attention. You better believe I am, but I really don't need the added stress of preteen rebellion. Sigh. This too shall pass.
Crawled into bed and had a dream...
I entered a hospital-ish room, but I could tell this was more homey, like a rehab facility or something. And sitting up in bed, smiling and healthy, was Samantha. She had her long dark hair and a nice red tint to her skin. It had been a long time since she hadn't looked gaunt and gray. I was astonished. I sat on the edge of her bed and she reached out and held my hand.
"They're not finding any cancer anymore," she said. "They're going to do a full scan tomorrow, but all the blood work has come back negative. I think it's gone."
I looked at her seriously, caught in the turmoil of being ready to continue my life and yet being faced with my soulmate, my partner of twenty years - back in the flesh. "Honey, you were dead. I held you as you died. I thought I'd never see you again."
Her hazel eyes sparkled with tears. She squeezed my hand earnestly. "I know. I know. And I was, technically. But it was all a lesson I had to learn. This was all something we had to learn."
We were cut off in mid-conversation by a stray cell signal buzzing my laptop speakers as they occasionally do. I awoke. It was 6:15AM. I tried to go back to sleep and continue the conversation, but to no avail. Perhaps we can continue later...
This is the first really clear conversational dream I've had of Sam. And the most clear in terms of setting (with the exception of the scary eyes opening dream, which was entirely too realistic). So much of this past few years (and this last one in particular) has been about being pushed along, out of my comfort zone, to grow and change - even though such growth hurts like hell. I still haven't sorted out what everything means (at least in terms of my own intuition), but I'm working on it.
Back to the gym today - finally...