Still picking up the pieces

Grief, 22 months later.  I had a dream last night.

I haven’t seen another person in four days.  I’ve been sick.  Flu, then weak and exhausted, not eating much and dragging myself around the house.  Missing my husband terribly.

I’m still pushing through the grief; I realize it’s been a constant effort, propping myself up with busyness – good busyness but busyness nonetheless.  Alone these last days of the year and the beginning of another with my defenses down I’ve felt again the full extent of my loss, right to my core.  That part of my life, the best part of my life, over. Gone. Not coming back. Final. Forever.  My mind and my heart are desolate without him and every bone and muscle is tense and sore from lack of his loving touch.  Just a touch.

Last night I dreamt I had taken over a small business.  Not sure what it was but there were open spaces – rooms, shelves to be filled. I have the sense of a garage though not the smells and clutter of one. My husband loved cars.   I was organizing things.

I can’t remember many other details but when I woke at 6 a.m. I remembered I’d had a dream and what lit up instantly in my head like a neon sign was “You’re the new owner.”

It seemed to say, “You can do this.”   “It’s an opportunity.”

I dozed again and when I roused a second time another part of the dream popped into my head, quickly and clearly.  My husband had been there.  But he hadn’t been himself; he’d felt sluggish and uncomfortable.

My first horrified fear was that I am holding him back.  Please, that can’t be true.  But I choose to believe it was simply symbolic, like the rest of the dream.   We are of two different worlds.  But he is still close, encouraging me.

All this to say, I know he is with me; I feel, and have felt, his presence often.  But I still ache for a touch.

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