Dreams come. The first dream is cruel. I wake, hear you slip out of the bed, shake, yawn. I hear your footsteps going downstairs.
“Oh Mist! I had the most awful dream!”
The second dream is happy.
I wake in the night and go to the top of the stairs. In the little hallway below me you are wagging, your whole body wriggling a greeting as you look up at me.
I know this isn’t normal…this isn’t dreaming…this isn’t physical….but what? My mind doesn’t understand.
My legs won’t work as I try to go downstairs. I give up on them and start to glide.
I raise my arms like a silly Halloween ghost. Grinning, wriggling, you join in the fun.
“Whoo-ooo! We’re both ghosts now!”
Denial. A stage of grief, so I’m told. The dreams won’t let you go.
Your squeaky yawn from somewhere downstairs says you heard me, but where’s breakfast?
“I dreamed you had died…..and such a long sad dream! It’s alright now, it’s gone. I’ll get up now, I’m coming….”
Then I wake up.
You have gone. I can neither eat nor walk, but I can sleep.
Above you, where flowers grow, day after day endless rain comes down, washing the earth.