My dreams are a mystery to me now, and I like the idea of this parallel life taking place during the night in my head, out of my control. But for the last few nights, the rare moments of sleep I have snatched have been plagued by strife. I can't get up the side of the mountain I am climbing. I keep swimming but the shore never comes any nearer. My husband is back in the mountains in Italy, and he is young again as he was when I met him and cutting wood, which he stacks into a huge pile. I tell him that it's time to go (Where? I'm not sure. But it's just time to go.) He looks at me and says no. He's not coming with me, and the desperation I feel welling up inside of me might strike me down.
So yesterday I broke down into a thousand pieces and told him of this dream. I've been trying to be the one with her shit together, which seems fair and fitting in the circumstances. I've been doing the cooking, I've organized all of the last minute overseas travel arrangements, I've made sure that the kids brush their teeth. But yesterday I fell apart, and confessed my subconscious fear of being left alone. Voicing this most ashamed fear of mine made it smaller, and finally absurd.
My husband took my sons on an overnight camping trip last night, and I slept alone here for the first time. I just awoke, and I'm sure that I dreamt, since this was the first decent night's sleep I've had since my father-in-law's passing. But I am gloriously unaware of what these dreams were about.
I only know that I awoke with a feeling like the color of amber, warm and solid.