Another widow blogger posted the other day about how she has dreamed about her husband every night for two weeks running. The dreams have brought her peace and restful sleep, although they have also brought her a raw sense of loss upon waking.
I commented on her post that I have not dreamed about John since his death. In fact, I don't think I've ever dreamed about John period. I tend not to dream of people I know well; instead, my dreams center around acquaintances who intrigue me, people I'd like to know better. More than once I've woken up from a dream and realized that I have a crush on someone. Many people who are grieving say that seeing lost loved ones healthy and vibrant in their dreams brings them a sense of calm and happiness. I've envied that, but only in an abstract way since I never expected to see John in the wanderings of my sleeping mind.
As you can now guess, that all changed last night. I had a vivid dream about John, and he was healthy and vibrant, but, oddly, we were attending his funeral together. We were graveside, next to each other, a crowd of people there with us. It was as though we were rehearsing for the service, but everyone was dressed for the real thing, and there was an officiant there. The officiant was an old friend of mine, someone I've reconnected with here in Portland (Hi, Liz! Do you even read my blog?), and she's not a clergy member. The box with John's ashes was in the ground and we were throwing dirt on it, and Liz was giving some kind of speech/sermon/I don't know what, and at the end she said, "Amen," then turned to John and said, "Is 'Amen' okay, or do you prefer a different closing?" He instructed her to use a word I'd never heard before and can't remember; when she looked puzzled, he told her that it meant "my one true love."
Very odd, all of it.
I can't say that dreaming about John made me feel any one way or another. Seeing him in a dream was for me like seeing him in a picture. I find it harder and harder to conjure the real emotion around what it felt like to have him around. I know that I miss him. Of that there is no question. But the specifics of his presence are lost on me. My life is so different now than it was when he was alive that I can't just slot him back in, and in a way, that makes his absence less acute. I can only imagine what it would be like to have him here, but I have no hard evidence to back it up.