I Saw the Grim Reaper in My Dream

At the beginning of the year, I left a job I loved. Unfortunately, it was no longer a productive place for me to be, and I felt I was on a sinking ship and had to get out–quickly! 

At first, I cried and cried and cried.

I felt I had been forced to leave.

I loved my patients, I loved working as a hospice professional, and I was good at it. I had wanted that profession for years. It was my dream job. I wanted to retire as a hospice professional. My mother was on hospice, so it held a special place in my heart. It was rewarding but also taxing.

The death. Over and over. The grief. Over and over.

Well, isn’t that was hospice is kind of about, you say?

I won’t get into that because that is not what this post is about, but I will say this: hospice is so much more about death and dying. It is actually about living.

ANYWAY.

Things were happening that made it clear I was not to be there any longer. I looked to change careers altogether because I didn’t want to do social work if it was not for hospice.

For a few weeks, I felt lost in a tornado, just randomly spinning my wheels and not knowing which way was up or down.

I second guessed myself constantly when I wasn’t processing the loss of my social work career.

Did I do the right thing? 

One night, I saw the Grim Reaper in my dream. He slowly came into my view as he was walking up a hill towards me. He wasn’t in a hurry. He wasn’t screaming or yelling. He was quiet, and that is what made him very creepy. When he got to my face, I saw his floating head and his eyes had lightened up to a blood red. Everything then went white, and I woke up.

What the bloody hell did I just dream and why???

Thanks to our friend, Google, I began researching what it meant to see the Grim in your dreams. I was relieved that the majority of posts were not screaming death, but instead were inferring to a death of something in your life, an end to something.

It dawned on me: My hospice career was dead.

Grimmy Boy suddenly was not so scary to me anymore.

Maybe that is what my mind was telling me, though I already knew it deep down in my heart.

It was over. For good. Dead. Time to move on.

And, you know, things always work out for the better. We may not realize it then, but sometimes, we just need to let things die, especially when they hurt us. Letting go can be scary and painful enough, but maybe it is time. What are some things you need to let go that have died?

(Since I saw him, I had wanted to draw him. I am not sure why, but I guess it was part of my grieving process.)

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