Dream Interpretation

Yet again I had a dream a few nights ago about Chris yet not about Chris.

My dream begins suddenly in a one bedroom apartment.  I spin slowly in a circle, taking in every inch.  The kitchen filled with cups and plates and boxes of food; the dining room table set with place mats, glasses, plates, silverware; the living room's walls lined with tall white shelves filled with books, boxes, knick knacks.

In my dream I knew it was Chris' apartment though it was like no apartment I have ever seen.

I wander from the living room into the bedroom where the tall shelves continue and a large desk containing a desk top computer is filled with papers and more books and file folders.

I reach up to open a desk cupboard to reveal full shelves of crafting items (ok you can laugh, Chris DID NOT craft so I'm not sure what this was about).  But, I reach up to touch bottles of glue and tubes of glitter.

In my dream I know Chris is dead yet I don't really question why he lives in this apartment nor do I wonder about our kids.  In an odd addition I am accompanied in the apartment by two girls whom I know are my friends but resemble no real life person I am familiar with.

I woke up thinking, huh??

The back story:  I had just started a book called Good Grief by Lolly Winston.  The main character is a widow who has no children and whose husband had died after a battle with cancer and she is a hot mess. 

I finished this book last night and loved, loved, loved it.  It's a book about a woman like me trying to hold her crap together yet realizing she just might not be able to.  Read this book...seriously.  It will be insightful to know this world so intimately either for yourself or for a friend.  If you have not been personally touched by my journey, I guarantee you will be touched by that of another.  Lolly Winston brings Sophia, the widow, to life.  Her pain and laughter were mine.  Sophia feels like a member of my widow community, another of whom I can say I don't know in person yet I know because I can feel her journey in the beating of my heart.

The back story to my back story.  When Chris died I combed through his belongings...his drawers, his clothing, his notebooks, his books, his van... I wanted to find something, anything to prove he had been there, he was real and he was still present.  The reality was that Chris was an extreme minimalist. I could hardly find a scrap of paper with his writing on it.  I felt like he disappeared and all that was left was a closet of clothes, walls filled with pictures and a toothbrush.  I would cry big heaving sobs, asking out loud, "Where the fuck are you Chris?"  It was like he vanished in a puff of smoke in a magic act.  An illusion.  Only it was real. 

This dream was me remembering the pain of reaching and longing for that.

It's at moments like this I realize how evident and close the pain and sadness of the loss truly is.  I still look around and wonder to myself where he went.  To dust he returned. 

Last night I sat watching Owen eating popcorn and watching a movie dressed in his pajamas and Lightening McQueen slippers and I marveled at who he is becoming.  He has become a major indicator of how much time has passed.  When Chris died Owen was one day short of 16 months old.  On Thursday 18 months will have passed since Chris last glanced at Owen as he walked up the stairs to shower.  Owen's life has more than doubled in time.  And then I realize all that Chris has missed.....