Meeting Death

I met Death in a dream the other night. He didn't speak to me, but he communicated to me anyway. He wasn't looking for me, he was looking for my father. But our spirits were so similar he found me first. I don't remember his face, it was a blur, and yet I remember the piercing feel of his gaze. He did not look like a grim reaper; he was dressed in white. Tall, dark, I would assume handsome. And yet... other. He left me with what felt like a warning. He wasn't pleased.

At one point in the dream we were heading down to the funeral, and I was crying. We stopped at my husband's grandparents, and I don't recall exactly what was said, but I ended up having to explain to his grandmother that my father had just died. And her response was "It's too bad you didn't get a chance to tell him what a failure you were."

Upon waking, my husband's response was "You have some really weird dreams." My response is to wonder what I'm supposed to learn from the dream. It didn't feel dreamish. What do I need to change? I do know that some of it is in part to the depression. And maybe some of it is to get me to draw a response. So I will. My personal goal is to have a drawn response/reaction to the dream done and posted here by Saturday night. Even if no one but me reads the blog, at least my goal is recorded.

Besides, I figure baby-steps. That is how to get back into doing the full-scale art projects. Today is Tuesday. No reason to not have at least a sketch done by Saturday.