I've always dreamed very vividly and if circumstances work out the right way I wake in time to remember some significant fraction of what I was dreaming. It was one of many things I had in common with Jeremy.

Recently Becky, Jeremy's mom, told me that she had suddenly remembered that Jeremy had told her about an especially vivid dream he had had, sometime back in April or thereabouts, in which his Grandma Helen, dead more than 20 years, had been right there with him. "I remember him saying, 'Mom, it was so real. I really thought she was there.' He said he couldn't stop thinking about it all day. It makes me wonder."

I wonder, too. I'm not particularly mystically inclined, but we're all well aware that there's more to the universe than our five senses can appreciate. Saki came and stuck her nose in my face, something she never does, just about the time Jeremy's body was given over to the mortuary. Coincidence or something more? It's where faith comes in, I suppose, but faith in what? In my case, it's faith that there's an aspect to existence that transcends our earthly lives, and that somehow, in some fashion, we're always part of that transcendence.

Someday I'll know.

In the meantime, I dream.

A few nights ago I dreamed that Jeremy was home, that he'd been on a very long shopping trip, and that he had all kinds of new and wonderful clothes. I held him and hugged him and looked at him for a very long time. It was as vivid as any memory I have of him and it never happened, not in this existence, anyway, not that trip, not those clothes. I awoke and remembered...

He's gone.

Well, physically, anyway. And unlike some people, chiefly Becky, I don't "feel" his presence in any literal, kinesthetic sort of way.

I dreamed again last night. Something long and convoluted and entertaining, the kind of dream Jeremy always loved to hear me tell. It involved airplanes, tanker trucks, and a food court. And he was there, as much as he is in any memory, taking care of this, fixing that, reassuring me about something else. I awoke and remembered...

The weight of days increases, it doesn't lessen. It's been how many now? More than a hundred surely, and every day without him physically in my life is another ounce of ache and longing.

Except when I dream.


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