Sweet dreams

Dreams remembered are rare for me. But this morning, 11 months and 9 days out from Jean’s last earthbound day, I finally saw her face.
We were painting together.  Finishing the corners on a ladder in a hazy room somewhere and then suddenly I saw her face on a pillow directly below mine.  I said. ” I love you babe.  I really love you. ”  No response.  Her eyes were closed.

As I pulled out of the scene and found myself floundering under the covers on this wintry morning.  I remembered.
“Sweet dreams.”  It’s what people always say.  And I finally had one.  A few moments of glitter and gladness to augment the staleness of the midnight air.

I never understood nor pondered the life of the widow or widower until of course I fell headlong into the pit of it.  Living in this solitary position has made me finally aware of the loss of others. People I’ve passed off or passed by who’ve been dealt the death card seemingly at random.
Realizing my dilemma has heightened my own self awareness of the thin veneer that separates my personna.  Just below the surface, the scourge of disappointment, discontent and brokenness lurks.  Just below the sunny countenance of my outer self each day.
Grief’s juggernaut is that it clears the head from believing all is well with the world.  It’s not.
We live small when we believe that all roses that are red and violets that are blue don’t die.
Shriveled. Then get dumped eventually in the daily compost.

But for a brief moment this morning, the sweetness of my dream gave me blessed remembrance. O the bliss of the life shared with my beloved.
My new found position in life creates the gift of new friends.  A new awareness of the needs of others that hold that card or other cards that bear the mark  of desperate lonlieness.  And that remembrance gives me hope for a larger dose of love ahead.