I dream of him often. The first time I was able to sleep after it happened I dreamt of a kiss. He came over and kissed me and it turned into one of those long, soft, intimate kisses that beg to become more intimate still, but we had to go somewhere. So we pulled back and after lingering for a moment, we went on with whatever we were getting ready to do. I have dreamt of him many times since that first night. Each dream has been about us doing relatively mundane tasks as if life was simply continuing on as it should have been.

But last night, last night was different. Last night he was dead. I was able to reach him moments after it happened, he was still warm. I started praying for healing, declaring life and wholeness over his heart and body. As nothing happened my prayers became more frantic and desperate. Eventually, I was just wailing. Then he stirred and sat up, but even as his body animated I could see he was not there. It was not him. So I hugged him and wept as I laid him back down.

Maybe this dream signifies my reluctant acceptance of reality. I don’t know, all I know is that it left me in a fog for a good portion of the day.