Dreams

Tuesday night you finally came back to me, if only for a moment. I dreamt of you, peacefully, for the first time ever. I believe I only remembered the dream, even partially because I woke myself up crying – thanking you for visiting me.

What I do remember is how good you looked. Healthy, handsome and happy; the way I really remember you and always will. We were standing in our bedroom and you were packing. I was not packing – just you. You were folding your clothes and putting them into a suitcase. I remember standing there watching you – not sad or remorse. Just truly happy to be in your presence. There was a scrapbook on the bed and I opened it. Inside was a single newspaper clipping about your suicide. I remember thinking I had so many questions to ask you. So much I wanted to know, but I never found my words.

All I did ask was, “Do you ever think about that day?”

You told me yes, everyday.

“Are you sorry?” I asked.

Yes, you said to me – everyday.

Then I woke up crying.

Do I feel better? No. Do I feel at peace? No. Maybe I will dream again and be better prepared.

I was away with my children for the last two nights on our first ever family vacation. It felt terribly odd to be going away to a family resort – with a piece of the family missing. I was determined not to feel sad and miserable. I was determined to have a good time. I was determined to just not be me for a few days.

The children had a blast. They went swimming and ate ice cream at every meal. I taught them both how to ski and they were amazing. We stayed up late and jumped on the beds. I never said the word NO. Except when their independence got the better of me and they wanted to ski down the huge mountain from the very top without me.

It was very bizarre to be in a place where no one knows about me. Oddly comforting and yet difficult too. I was the only single parent that I could see and trust me; I was looking out for others like me. When the kids were swimming and I was sitting by myself surrounded by couples, I often wondered what they thought of me. I would chuckle to myself because I wanted to walk up to them and say, “Whatever you are thinking my story is – it is worse much worse than you can ever imagine”. But I didn’t. I didn’t have to explain my husband’s absence; I didn’t have to talk about death or suicide for three days. It left me feeling empty and longing for my computer so I could write about it.

I tried not to think about my dead husband while we were away. But there were moments I just couldn’t help it. I wanted him with me to share the experience. I wished he was there to witness the children coming down the mountain solo for the very first time. I saw him at every meal there was an all-you-can-eat buffet. He would have been thrilled. I saw him at night when couples were playing ping pong while their children played. I held a racket in my hand and tried not to cry. Envisioning how he and I would play ferociously both thinking we could out maneuver the other.

The only time I really cried was when I would watch children run away from their scolding mothers into the arms of their smiling fathers. That was so painful to witness I would have to look away in tears. I missed him so much this trip even though I tried very hard not to. I missed his sense of humor and just having him to rolls his eyes at me when someone said or did something ridiculous. I missed having him there when his daughter peed her pants as we were about to go skiing and was left on my own to deal with stressful parent stuff.

I guess deep down I didn’t do a great job at keeping the ghosts away. But like everything, I did the best I could.

I didn’t dream about him while we were away. I didn’t talk about him while we were away. I made new memories with the children and they only know what a wonderful vacation we had. They never said, I wish daddy was here – maybe they were just thinking it like me.