Bookends

Thursday night, the night before Pedro graduated from high school, I dreamt he died. He was out somewhere and I went looking for him. I knocked on a strange door and I said "He's dead, isn't he?" The person who answered the door didn't reply. I assumed that her lack of response and the expression on her face meant it was true, but I never actually saw him dead. I was startled and woke up, completely freaked out. His graduating from high school is a big deal, and I should be happy. Why am I having such crappy and horrible dreams? My therapist loves talking about dreams. He thinks they are like poetry--open to interpretation.

I digress.

The graduation was lovely. I cried through most of it. Afterwards, I was exhausted.

Saturday, the family went to Glacier National Park and hiked to Avalanche Lake, the same hike Pedro and I did on his first family pass in October of 2019. This hike bookended Pedro's experience in Montana.

Both he and I commented on what a difference there was between the hike this weekend compared to where we both were in 2019. This was my first visit to the Boy at his boarding school, and, by his own definition, he was "an angry douchebag."

On the 2019 hike, the late fall weather was cold and dreary, pouring rain for more than half of the hike. The Boy marched ahead, not talking to me and not telling me why he was angry. I felt helpless and frustrated and sad and angry. I didn't know what to do. When we got to Avalanche Lake, the Boy skipped stones for twenty minutes in the rain, trying to burn off some unspoken emotions. Looking back, I probably should have not tolerated that insolent and dismissive behavior. I probably should have have taken him back to campus and then driven back to Seattle.

This year, Pedro was much more enjoyable to be around. He walked along side me for most of the hike. He even commented on the change between the two hikes. At one point, he told me to hurry, but like "It is okay to take your time and get some water, but don't sit and meditate for twenty minutes." Which was fine as it was clear and direct communication. When we got to the lake, we both sat on a log. I told him this is where he could scatter my ashes when I die, if they allow that kind of thing in a national park.

"I can get a little boat and drop them in the middle of the lake," he said. "But I'd have a hard getting a boat out here."

"Maybe you could take a stand-up paddle board," I said. "You could strap the urn with my ashes to the front of the board and row out to the middle." We laughed.

In movies and books, things often come full circle at the end of a journey, but rarely does it happen so neatly in life. Yet, here we were, in the exact same spot, two years later, both changed people.

Maybe my dream of Pedro dying means that the old Pedro died, the one who was angry and hostile and sad and isolated. Perhaps this is where a new Pedro emerges. I know there is so much more ahead for both of us, so many good times and times again where he will be "an angry douchebag."

Perhaps I missed something in the dream. I didn't die in the dream, but the person I was on that hike two years ago is mostly gone, too. My spinning and obsessing about everything has dramatically slowed down, and I am getting comfortable in this new way of being. I am trying really hard not to try to control everything I cannot control. I am letting things evolve instead of trying to manage them.