Wednesday, May 5, 2010


dreamscape 1
Originally uploaded by
Studio Sublime

I don't know what it is, but I am really lacking in the creative energy flow tonight. I'm really tired, from a long day at work, then guitar lessons, Jiu Jitsu, dinner, laundry and bedtime and chore completion monitor.

Wow, just as I wrote the last sentence, my mind went to an alternate plane. Without any filter, I told myself to just go downstairs and lay down with Michael. My body was starting to anticipate his touch, then the chill of reality hit.

I feel like the wind just got knocked out of me. It was a rare moment of disconnect for me. In the early days this would happen often, but these days it doesn't seem to happen at all. It was as if the need, feeling, or response connected before my cognitive self became fully aware. And all of this in a matter of seconds.

It hurts.

I had a really nice lunch today with a couple of friends. I hate to say old friends, as it doesn't sound very nice to me right now. These are two friends I have had for 19 and 23 years. We have not had an opportunity to get together for a very long time. Today we ate outdoors at The Ramp, as fun outdoor restaurant along the bay. It's a casual, funky kind of place. I really loved being with them. I got to talk about all my plans, what my kids are all up to, and where I am with my grief. One of my friends talked about her mother's long term grief of losing her husband many years ago. She talked about her mother's desire for a full and happy life, but a life as a single woman. I used to know her mother and step father. They were a really happy and fun loving couple. I remember feeling a sense of shock when he died. It seemed to come out of nowhere, even though he had been sick for some time. At the time I didn't really expect him to die, or to think of my friend's mother as a widow. How strange to find myself here now.

Something that I was keenly aware of during our lunch, is that I truly enjoyed listening to my two female friends talk about their husbands. I have known their husbands for a long time as well, and thought to myself that they are both so lucky to have such a strong, and long lasting love. I didn't feel any resentment, or bitterness, from the exchange. I was really happy for them. They are both wonderful women, and it pleased me that they were blessed to find their perfect match.

Today is my parents' 54th wedding anniversary. I called them this evening to wish them well, and to see how their day went. As usual, my mother didn't feel very well today, as she is sick most of the time. And, as usual, my father went about his day, getting things done that needed to be done. I'm a lot like him. We have actually been in very similar roles these past couple of years, being the primary caregivers to our spouses. It doesn't matter how tired, or sick, you are, you still have all the above things to do.

Tonight I'm really missing the reward at the end of the day. Lately I have been sleeping with Michael's pillows pushed right up against me again, as I did in the early months after he died. I have needed to limit the large expanse of our bed, which has helped me to feel snug, and sleep well. Very early this morning I woke up feeling a bit startled. I had been dreaming, but couldn't remember what the dream was about. All I knew was that it had Michael's essence. I still have no recollection of it, and I don't even know if Michael was in the dream. It's like the dream had the feeling of him.

I'm not going to get too caught up into trying to make sense of it all. I'm just going to accept these fleeting moments for what they are. I'm just going to make note of them, experience them, then allow myself to move forward. They seem to add a new texture to my grief.


  1. I was always pleased to hear people talk about their spouses too, or to watch couples when I was out. Sure, there was a feeling of sadness for me, but mostly it was so good to know that the kind of relationship I'd lost was still a reality - even if it was someone else's reality. It was so hopeful.

  2. ...then the chill of reality hit.

    I was just discussing this with a friend yesterday. Her sister was killed in a car accident about five years ago. They shared everything in their lives. She mentioned how, even now, when anything good happens in her life, she still gets that flash of excitement as she thinks she can't wait to tell her sister that this or that happened. I've been feeling that a lot lately too as I work around this old house that I bought. I finish a section of the new fence and think how I can't wait to show it to Don. Last summer when the dogs and I were at the farm, Sabrina (our old dog) would go out and lie on the front lawn watching the gate at the end of the lane about a half hour before Don's usual arrival time home from work. She would watch for about and hour, then resignedly get up and come indoors when I called her in for dinner. Yesterday, I bought a new power tool and set the box down to unpack later. Next time I looked at the box, I got that little jolt of remembering Don wouldn't be unpacking it, reading the manual and putting it together. He loved to do that when we got new power tools. Although I used them more, but he got so much enjoyment out of unpacking and getting them ready to use. My days continue to be filled with these little moments. I even still have them a bit with my dad who has been gone for eleven years now -- we were such good friends and I could never wait to show him the latest thing I had made or built as he just loved that sort of stuff. Anyhow, I guess that we never lose those sensations of wanting to show something to someone, discuss something, sit together enjoying a wonderful sunset, or lie together talking about the day or just touching. Yes, it hurts.
    I have had those dreams too - the ones where I felt Don was in them, or there, or somehow connected, but feel it slip away as I wake. It's nice to have that feeling even if it is a little fleeting and may not make sense -- and certainly better than the hospital dreams which I had for well over a year. It's these little things that help me to know that some part of me is healing and moving forward.