staying in John Madden’s boutique hotel, the Rose, which is GORGEOUS (and John M was actually there in the lobby bar the night we arrived, oddly enough but of course I had no reason to speak to him or harass him so I just smirked)… I had a dream.
About five in the morning the night before I came home, I dreamed that Katie K was taking me to meet a friend. We climbed the stairs to say hi and the woman took one look at me and started screaming “What is she doing here? I don’t want to meet her, get her out of here!” I obligingly booked it down the stairs and out into the street and across the street to a little park, where I sat down on a bench. I felt warmth next to me and turned my head.
John was sitting there, dressed in black, and hatless (which would not be normal at this time of year… felt like Vancouver on an overcast day). His hair had grown out a little and he had a much better pair of glasses, but it was John all right – nobody looks, smells and sounds like him. He commiserated with me briefly on my contretemps, and then, and a couple of times he laughed, that breathless chuckle, and then with that same brainwoosh that had accompanied the sensation of him joining me on the bench, I realized I was dreaming. I don’t lucid dream, at all, and it’s actually been many months since I had a memorable dream. As soon as I realized I was dreaming, I knew John was dead, and I was FINALLY getting my visitation dream, which I have longed for.
“What took you so long?” I asked.
He smiled. And we all know that shit eating grin. And just like the Cheshire Cat, he faded, and left the grin hanging in the air for a few seconds, and then I woke up.
I’ve been a little teary for the last few days, because honestly I had given up. Somehow my brain gave me permission to let him visit, and I am so, so glad. Cried my eyes out at the Remembrance Day service yesterday at church, because I’d been going to say his name and Tom did it for me.
I’ve been thinking of him a lot this week. Weird little memories I haven’t thought of in a long time popping up, but also a feeling like “this is it, this is finally the end of the (mentally) wearing black for mourning phase.” I had one of the pseudo-dreams I’ve had on and off since he died, replaying the unpleasant hospital stuff, but it wasn’t as awful as before. It’s just been long enough I guess. Or enough times through the VCR and the tape quality degrades and the horror movie just turns to static. I think this weekend I will take the con badge blanket and the quilt I had made of his T-shirts and pack them up in a drawer to look at occasionally with fondness, instead of having them hang on the wall / sitting at the foot of my bed making me sad. Maybe it’s the impending birth making me want to stop dwelling on his death. Or maybe he’s just running errands this week and we were two loose ends to tidy up.
Anyway. Thinking of you as well as him.
I feel a lot more energetic. Sometimes you don’t know what you’re waiting for.