I really loved the documentary we saw yesterday, "Stories We Tell", directed by Sarah Polley. It's intelligent, multilayered and insightful. There is much to muse upon after. I saw it with a friend and her friend, and we were equally enthusiastic. Polley was in "The Sweet Hereafter", and directed "Life After Her", a near perfect film. But this film is haunting and complex, and reveals as much in the director's choices as it does in the narratives. Ten thumbs up or whatever.
I had a good walk with my friend, and a good talk with my therapist.
One of the things we discussed in therapy was a reoccurring dream I have. In it my parents and I have been estranged (no kidding, they've been dead for 26 years) and I feel guilty. They live in a house mostly gray, and unrecognizable from the real one. My mother is either dead or not, depending on which version I dream that night, and my father is distant emotionally. We have not gathered for holidays and I have not seen them in many months. There is no sense of a "break", I have just chosen not to keep up with them, but I do feel bad. I feel the distance between us acutely.
So much of my life has now gone on without them. They've missed so many events and milestones, as has my first husband, the father of my older two kids. He's been gone even longer, 29 years. My therapist thinks the upcoming wedding is bringing this loss back to me. It makes sense. But there is also the gradual not thinking about them as much, and at the same time my kids not thinking about me as much (healthy as it is) and the everpresent mortality issue. I think I'm just trying to get used to it: this final dissolving of the self, and fading away into memory and eventually beyond remembrance. I see it. I am aware.
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