I’m not what you’d call a good sleeper.
As a teenager, I never quite got the hang of sleeping in (or maybe my mom wouldn’t let me?). I slept great in college, though I needed very little to get by. The early years of motherhood were the first time I remember just being chronically tired…Three kids in less than five years meant a long stretch of time with just plain not enough hours in the day to devote to sleep. My late 30s brought a bout of horrible insomnia that lasted a couple of years, wherein I tried everything under the sun to break that cycle.
Now solidly in my mid 40s, I am not ashamed to admit that I am a bit precious about sleep. I do my best to get 7.5 hours a night (I know, it’s still not enough), and I’m pretty good about going to bed at the same time every night, with my white noise and fan both on, the room cool and my favorite pillows in place. Generally speaking, I sleep okay most nights, and if I have a bad stretch, I take half a dose of Zzquil for a couple of nights with no guilt and get back on track.
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Last night, Matt was away on business, so I had the king-size bed to myself. Of course, I settled into the middle of the bed, thinking I had a peaceful night of sleep ahead of me. I was wrong.
I should also note: I rarely remember my dreams. On occasion there will be an especially vivid one, but it doesn’t happen often. So last night stands out for a lot of reasons.
I can only describe the night as filled with terror. I know I woke a couple of times, told myself I was just dreaming, and then fell right back into the same nightmare I had been in. When my alarm went off and it was time to start my day, I felt like I hadn’t slept at all.
My work day started with an early Zoom with my colleague, Emilie, and a few college students. When we got off the call, I texted Emilie, apologizing if I seemed off. I told her I’d had a horrible night of sleep, dreaming all night about Jack Henry being a prisoner of war; in the dream, I’d sent him somewhere not knowing where he was going, and the next thing I knew I was getting a video message of him terrified, a POW.
I commented, “Isn’t that so random and bad?”
And my dear friend connected the dots for me, suggesting that this might not just be random. The day before, she and I had both seen various pieces of footage of the shooter, looking like a soldier hunting for an enemy, carrying a weapon of war in a place that should be sacred: an elementary school.* Other videos of police body cam footage were also released, though I didn’t watch those.
No one knows for sure why we dream, but theories abound. Neurologically speaking, there are theories that indicate your brain is categorizing or consolidating information, or helping you “practice” things you might need in real life. Even less is known about the psychological aspect of dreams, but again, there are lots of ideas that seem to have some merit.
All that to say: I can’t know for sure why I dreamt of war, but I’m fine with not having certainty about that. It makes sense to me, as Emilie suggested, that my brain is trying to sort through the idea of school as a war zone. It makes my nightmare, where I dreamt of my 15-year-old and his unidentified friend learning how to fight a war, make some sense.
I burst into tears while we were texting. Not over my nightmare exactly; I’d hugged Jack Henry first thing this morning, and I was no longer having weird dream flashbacks, so I was thinking clearly again. I cried because what in the actual hell is this place we have created? What have we become? School should never, ever, for ANY child or parent or teacher, even come close to being equated with a warzone.
I haven’t stopped thinking of this all day. I’ve donated to Everytown, emailed my Senator and Representative. I’ve read the voices of so, so many people, who just want common sense to prevail for once. This is not nearly as polished or thoughtful as I like something I write to be, but I’m tired. I’ve not done enough, and I’m not done with this topic, but I do think I’m ready to take a shot of Zzquil and call it a night.
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Respectful conversation is welcome here, but this is my space, and I will not tolerate nonsense, so take it elsewhere if you’re here to talk about 2A and the right to automatic rifles like the ones used in Monday’s shooting.
*Nashville Covenant School, just in case by the time I hit publish on this, another mass shooting has occurred, which is entirely possible given the rate they’re happening in the US.
Here's the Diehl 