Talk Without Speaking

I see him across the camp fire. He stands there, silent, and I’m not sure how he ended up getting there since I didn’t see him arrive. To see him here shocks me; I lose my breath for a moment and I look to my Mom for….what? Clarification? Guidance? He is wearing pants but is shirtless and I can see the sun freckles on his skin. He is younger than I remember him, he is strong and he is healthy.

So confused and so relieved, I walk over to him and I hug him. I can see him so vividly and so clearly. I can feel his skin as I let my hand roll over his shoulder.

Somehow he has moved away from me and I lose sight of him for a moment.

And then, I wake up.

More confusion reigns in those first few seconds as I struggle to understand and then I realize that this is the wished-for dream. Somehow, not even 24 hours have passed since I told a friend that I would do anything to see him in a dream again and here he is. It is so comforting and it is blisteringly painful. I am happy to have seen him again; it relieves me massively to understand that the memories of him are still inside me somewhere even when I can’t recall them at will. And yet, it brings it all so close and it brings it all back again and I feel the loss. The burning pressure begins inside me and I am so frustratingly familiar with it now. The tears come and I know better than to fight them. Those rolling waves come over and over and I get tossed just as surely as last week in the surf and yet I have not moved from bed. That screaming headache and I worry that my head is going to explode so I put my hands up to my temples hoping like hell that that will be enough. Gasping breath comes and slowly goes.

There is calmness at the end of it all. I don’t know why but we (I) can’t sustain this grief and that is such a blessing. We are designed to protect ourselves, I guess. And in that needed (hated) calmness I find sleep again.