About a week ago, I had a nightmare.
I dreamed that there was a knock at our front door. Keep in mind, a knock at the door is a daily occurance around here. We live in close proximity to quite a few schools and there are a lot of politically active people in our neighborhood. Someone is always fundraising or trying to get you to swing your vote.
In this nightmare, I ignored the knock. So the dream was, virtually, reality because that is exactly what I do when I’m awake, except that I usually see the person coming and shut the blinds first.
In my dream, I ignored the knock, only to hear three, consecutive knocks a few moments later. Against my better judgement, I opened the door only to be pushed back into my foyer by an intruder with a gun.
Then I woke up.
This nightmare will stay with me for awhile. I know that. I clearly remember two nightmares I had when I was eight years old, a series of them that I had when my ex-boyfriend was harassing me and one a few years ago about me, my husband, our two kids and the SUV in which we were riding going over the side of a cliff. Whoever said that dreams are rainbows and unicorns doesn’t know a thing about my brain.
Last night, in my real life, someone rang the doorbell and I ignored it. A few moments later, there were three, consecutive rings. It was just like what I had experienced in my dream.
My 11 year old daughter asked, “Are you going to answer the door?”
I replied, “No.”
She questioned me further. “Why? Are you thinking about that dream you had?”
“No”, I lied.
She was on to me. She glared at me and said, “You know, Mom, you can’t let your nightmares control your life.”
I may not be as smart as she is, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t open that door.