Tonight, I dozed off without knowing it. For the first time since his death, I dreamed of R. I remember saying at one point, "Now that I've got you back, we're not going to do things the way we did before..."Then I turned into megabitch with a long list and agenda, and he was dismayed and hurt. There were all the surreal details which affirm it was a dream: unknown, falling down, twisted, oddly constructed old buildings (that felt perfectly normal and in place in the dream) that don't really exist on familiar roads, an old man standing on an old building sign over a doorway, an axe in one arm, as if he was chopping down the platform on which he stood, a load of chopped something (wood?)in the other, the womanchild driving us around with cats crawling on the dashboard. The main thing was that I had R. back, treated him badly, and he knew it.
I've prayed to dream of him and to learn something from the dream when I had it. Instead, I'm disturbed and saddened. I hate that I treated him that way, but I did. I had my reasons in real life, and they were valid. The people who really knew us would agree, but it still hurts. I'm sitting here crying. I had him back. We both knew he'd been gone. We knew it was a miracle he was back, and I was a bitch.
This is the way of life. You think you're getting better, and then wham, you know you're back in a weaker position again. I've craved his forgiveness, as I'm sure he did mine. God knows, we both did a lot to need forgiveness. I've been told over and over that he is a place of perfect love and forgiveness now, and I need to have faith and accept what that offers. In many ways, this feels like I'm being told, "Suck it up, get over it," even though I know the words are offered in love and meant to reassure and comfort.
This was also the first time in quite awhile when it felt, for a moment, that his death was the dream, and not the reality. I'd get up, get moving, and there he'd be, but that's just not the way it is. The hurt is fresh. Again. My head is throbbing. I just lit another cigarette, and though I'm aching for sleep after weeks of harsh, unrelenting insomnia, I fear I'll be too afraid of dreaming to try sleeping again tonight.
"To sleep, perchance to dream..." Heaven help me.