Sleep

I've had a lot going on lately - shopping with friends at the lake, a trip to see a much-loved musician, a film festival in my town that is becoming one of my most favorite events ever.  All of these have been made possible by my friends and family, whether they bought me a ticket,  just kept me company or babysat my girl so I could try to be normal for a while.  It has been nice - wonderful.  I would do all of these things all over again, and am so grateful, but I am so tired.  Maybe I'm not yet ready to be normal again - maybe normal doesn't exist for me anymore.

  What I'm learning is this:  If I put myself in situations that require me to stay "on" for too long, I start to lose it. And by "it,"  I mean a combination of composure, a filter, positive thinking, and hope.  Even the length of a normal work day can sometimes test my limit for holding it all in depending on how much sleep I've had or what triggers I came in contact with (and then tried to suppress) throughout my day.  Last week I got a reminder card for Matt's eye appointment.  I didn't know he had made it at his last appointment over the summer.  It sent me spinning into thought about what an 8:00am appointment would do to our morning routine - the old routine that is.  The one I wish I could have back.  Really remembering the intimate details of our family's morning routine was the saddest thing I had done all week until I had to call and tell them to stop sending reminder cards.

I constantly look for distraction, but feel like even when I appear to have found it, my brain won't let it fully happen.  I might be having a conversation about iPad end-of-the-year-procedures at work or posing in a silly photo with my friends or sisters, but I guarantee that I am focused on the task of just keeping my concentration, focused on trying not to miss him.  The constant film reel of sad in my head does not seem to take a break - I simply ignore it until I'm alone again.  This usually makes the ride home from work every day my first blurry moment to decompress.  I am grateful that it is usually drowned out by the  radio so Daphne cannot hear my voice crack.  If I can pull it together before we go inside,  I can usually make it through the few hours before she goes to bed, all the while focusing on not focusing.  Exhausting.

Because of my full life, I like to think that I'm not lonely, but I am.  I hope that doesn't hurt anyone's feelings.  I am so lucky for you all.  So lucky.  I know that.  But I had a person who wanted to know everything - all my secrets, all of my plans and dreams, all of the boring details of my boring, cherished, life.  I saw seven documentary films this weekend and instead of snuggling on the couch to tell him about each one, I am sitting alone.  I know I could call someone, but I want to talk to him.

The intimate connection of a spouse is so much more than romance, plans, shared stories, family histories.  It is the knowledge you didn't realize you even had - the little things.  The small details that didn't matter until you didn't have anyone knowing yours.  I have months of mundane to tell someone and it's spilling over.  I haven't done it, but the thought to text his phone just to feel like I have someone to talk to while I'm here at my house alone every night has crossed my mind.  Then I realized how crazy and unhealthy that sounds.  I know it doesn't make sense, because if he was here I wouldn't be crushed by this sadness, but I really just want to tell him about it.  He would make me feel better and he might not even need to say anything at all.

I cannot seem to think of anything else, so I was surprised my first dreams about him took as long as they did to occur.  I actually remember this one.  Maybe this means I am sleeping better.  I did start sleeping more normally last week - no longer am I at the foot of the bed.

 Like dreams so often are, one of these first dreams was set in a place that did not look the way it does in real life.  It was set at a Wal-Mart, a store I cannot stand to visit.  The ceilings were taller, the aisles much more open - like an arena.  At this "Wal-Mart,"  Matt and I were participating in a game show with a live audience.  We made it through a physical challenge that I cannot remember, but I think it may have involved a hula hoop.  The second round was set high atop a set of bleachers or risers and was in front of a live audience.  Teams were made up of one man and one woman.  Each team was required to finish a task - the girl had to shave the man's face and head.  Barbershop style with the old-fashioned blade and the painted on shaving cream.

Throughout this dream, my dream self was conscious that Matt was sick.  Also, I was acutely aware that knowing about his illness ahead of time was so much worse than losing him suddenly.  I was conscious of being married, but also strangely broken up or not together.  He was not assigned to be my partner in the competition, but instead, I was paired with one of my former students.  When we climbed the bleachers to race-shave the men, I asked Matt if he thought it would be too weird if I took over as his partner.  He said he did not think it would be strange at all, so I moved to his station, abandoning my student.  The horn sounded to start the race, but I wasn't tall enough to reach him.  My dream self thought she was really clever and planned to win by using a doggy swimming pool from the pet aisle as a step-stool.  While I was hunting for a pool, the competition ended.  I missed the whole thing.

When I dream, I usually do not see real faces.  The characters are not creepy, but they are blurry.  This was not the case with my dream about Matt.  I could see his face exactly - the square angle of the tip of his nose, the crooked smile, those eyebrows he passed on to Daphne, everything.

When I returned to Matt's station, he was still sitting in the barber's seat, waiting for me to return.  He was clearly resting - his body relaxed and leaning sideways in the chair the way he used to fall asleep in the car from time to time.  We were still very aware of his grave illness.  He realized I was back and ready to try again in the next round of the competition, but instead he looked at me calmly, smiled and said, "It's time."  Everyone around us in the competition seemed to understand that this was something we just had to do.  Reluctantly, I took him to the hospital where we both knew his body would fail.  Dream over.

He smiled.  I could see his face and he smiled in that way that was supposed to convince me to get on board with something.  The dream has been haunting me for over a week and I have not had one since.

I could go on and on about what I do or do not think it means.  Or if it means anything at all.  I'm not going to get into that, but I do know that I woke up so sad I could barely get up early and shower before Daphne started to stir.  I'd like to dream him every night so I could tell him about my day, but again, that doesn't sound healthy.  I also don't think I could handle the wake-up since I'm still recovering from this one.