the first dream

Original date 15 March 2011

Since Brian died, I have not dreamt of him.  But last night, I dreamt of him.

I can't see him clearly, we're too close together.  He's sitting up in bed, I think.  His face is close to mine, we are touching.  I am leaning over him, against him. He is showing me two framed pictures, or diagrams, and these too I can't see clearly.  He asks me my opinion on something, but I don't know what we're talking about.  I can't see what he's holding, so I'm not able to say anything. I am both eager and uneasy, for something is expected of me, I think....but what?

Brian's voice is low, matter-of-fact:  "I guess I won't be seeing you for awhile."

And then the dream ends--I'm awake--I'm stunned, and I'm awake.  It's as if Brian had been in the room with me, a moment ago, and now...

Oh, God!!

Such a sense of loss comes over me, I can hardly bear it.  I seem to be lying partly beneath my blanket, half off the bed.  I am dressed.  Always now, I wear socks to bed, warm socks, my feet are icy cold, even with socks.  I am often shivering, and try to sleep curled up, embracing my own self tightly.

Sometimes the lamp is on through the night, and the TV might be on, muted.

It's almost 6 AM.  The TV is not turned on.  I am alone in bed.  There's a sound of wind in the trees outside, at a distance, an owl, what sounds like an owl, for the muffled shriek could be the sound of an owl's prey too.  One of us would say "Listen! Do you hear the owl?"

Now, I don't want to hear the owl.  Whatever those blood-chilling shrieks are, I don't want to hear.

What I want is to return to the dream.  Such yearning, it's like thirst, the most terrible thirst, this yearning to return to the dream of Brian that has been the happiest moment of my life since he died.