Last night I dreamt that my husband died. And clearly, painfully, I regretted not saying goodbye.
We’d ended the dream night with tense words and when I woke the next morning, he’d passed away. My mom came to the house to help with the kids. Thank God, because I was useless and mute, and couldn’t hold the pain.
I missed him something fierce and my harsh words from the night before rose up to bite me again and again.
My relief upon waking saturated me.
I knew I’d been given a gift.
A realization that perhaps I’ve made little things the big things and the big things too little.
Living perhaps a bit unconsciously.
Not paying attention.
Lost in black and white.
Last night, TECHNICOLOR!
Dreams do that, you know.
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