I know dreams aren’t real, but still

Dear Timmy Sean;

After not dreaming about you for months, I’ve had two in the last two weeks. One the night before last, one almost two weeks to the day before that.

In all the dreams I’ve had about you since you died, dreams where you’re there, you’ve been hella mad. You don’t say anything, you just… stomp around my dream like you’re really irritated and angry. You’re not even really the focus of the dream, you’re just there, in the background, stomping around and slamming things down, like a passive aggressive Bigfoot.

But two weeks ago, I had a different dream. You were still not the focus of the dream, still just in the background. Off to the side from the real dream action. But instead of being angry… you were sad. You were sorry that you’d had to leave, you were a little confused about what happened and why you died, you were sad that I was hurting, but you were also relieved that I was moving forward.

Then the other night, in my dream – and again, you weren’t the focus of the dream, you were just there in the background – you were in the kitchen. Cooking. I was having a lot of people over and you wanted to make sure everyone had enough good stuff to eat. So you were making sure everyone was taken care of.

Do I think that was literally you, in my dream? Of course not. Not any more than I think you’re reading this, even though I’m writing it “to” you. Writing you letters is just a form of journaling. Of clearing my head. Of saying things out loud to see if they sound true or sound false. “You” being in my dream is really just me, my brain, my neurons firing and my mind trying to sort through and make sense of things that happened that day, or things that I’m pondering over even subconsciously.

So “you” not being angry, “you” being sad, “you” just being there to make sure everyone has full bellies… what does that really mean? I think it means I’m ready to let my anger that you died no longer be my driving emotion. I think it means that I’m ready to think about being sorry you left, instead of angry and just barreling forward at full tilt. I think I’m telling myself that it’s OK to reflect, now, about things outside of those last three months. Experiences we had over twenty years. Places we went. Ways that you genuinely were helpful, that I might even miss a little (I really do miss you being in charge of taking the trash down to the curb, even though I love my riding lawn mower that I use to do it).

Not that I never missed you, but admitting that I miss our life together is… bigger. Admitting that I might miss being a wife, having someone to go through the days with, someone to watch TV with in the evenings and have favorite shows with, someone just… being there. Admitting that there was a time in my life where I didn’t want to go at it solo? That’s huge. It means I’m admitting I’ve changed, softened, even if that change was because I had to, not because I wanted to. It really was anger and rage that got me through at least the first six months after you died – admitting to being sad, admitting to missing things you did (other than that fucking phone whistle sound, sorry, my guy, but I’ll never miss that) feels like admitting to being weak. I haven’t wanted to let go of that anger because sadness and reflection, to me, are heavier than anger. Anger is a fire that points the way; sadness is stagnant.

… can’t imagine what, in my Gen X youth, could have impressed upon me that sadness is a swamp you can’t get out of. :: side eye ::

(I mean, really, was ANYONE my age NOT traumatized by The Neverending Story???)

Anyway. My point. If you, in my brain, are not mad any more, and are starting to go about normal, routine things, I think that’s my brain saying that it’s ready to not be mad any more, and to start going around doing normal, routine things. So… thanks for showing up in my dream and telling me that… even though I know it’s really just my own firing neurons.