Apparently the nightmares are back, trigged by early Independence Day fireworks.
I think it started at my parents' house last night. I was there for dinner, we were all inside, and somewhere outside a firecracker went off. I jumped, visibly shaken, and was suddenly jolted into an idea of Rick's last moments. A gunshot I didn't hear, but know occurred. I guess that's enough. I recovered in an instant, but the noise really shook me inside my head. As a social worker, I understand that these things happen, but on a personal level, I wasn't expecting it.
The random early firecracker faded into nothingness and I went on with my night. I went home. I blogged. I watched some TV. Then more early fireworks started in my own neighborhood. I jumped when they started - much more than the scenario called for, but easily relaxed as the night wore on (and so did the fireworks).
The cats and I went to bed. And just like that, the nightmares were back. I had at least four last night. I had horrible ones during which I couldn't wake myself up, but wanted to desperately. I had ones that caused me to wake up yelling or crying. I felt like I had to keep catching my breath last night.
I'm hoping the nightmares will dissipate again...or perhaps present themselves one at a time. The cluster of nightmares last night was too intense and unbearable. I thought I was past the timeframe that would cause such resurfacing of trauma. I thought my grief had taken over in a softer, less extreme way.
I guess grief still has surprises.
I don't want to remember the bad or the scary. I want to remember the good. I don't like when things are out of my control.
I don't like being caught off guard. Actually, I don't like grieving.