Dreaming (grief warning)
Things have been okay. Yesterday, I even thought, hey, I'm actually all right. Apparently this is my mind's cue for another tsunami--"enough strength has built up, time to leap again." My aunt pointed out that my mind is doing a huge amount of work under the surface, trying to integrate the loss.
In the dream, he has left me. We are renovating a house in London, and I have come home to it, and the builder tells me that my husband isn't coming home and that my instructions are not to look for him. He is gone without a trace but I'm not to try to find him. In the dream, I'm devastated, but I cope; I go about my days; I walk along with one of the children (younger for some reason) in the rain, wearing my raincoat, and I see his raincoat across the street, and I think, aha, okay, I'll be cool, not chase, not acknowledge. And the wearer of the coat is not him, as it happens, and I am glad not to have made a fool of myself. And I get home to the London house, and I have a stroke of brilliance: I can call him at work! Yes! I struggle, but recall his phone number at the office. And I woke up, thinking, I can call him at work! And what his phone number is. And that he'd left me. And that he was somewhere, alive.
And he isn't. And he didn't want to leave me. And I'm doing a lot of crying this morning. It's making the keyboard a bit soggy. I should have seen it coming because my body has been doing some odd things, the first tremors of the earthquake that struck as I slept. But who wants to see such things coming? Of course I'm going to continue to grieve; duh. It is not a conscious process; this is deeply disturbing for me.
Knitting: finally nearly done with little guy's gloves.
Time to take the dog out.