Love is forever…One woman’s journey with grief

I had the best dream about him last night.  We were in each other’s arms, close and comfortable.   In the dream I asked him how he was feeling, like I knew there was something wrong with him.   It was almost as if I knew he was dead, or dying, and wasn’t supposed to be there, but took his presence as another chance, like I’d gone back in time to a point where I could’ve done something to make the difference.  I was calm, not frantic; like I was aware something wasn’t quite as it was supposed to be, but I was going to make the most of the opportunity.    I don’t know; dreams are hard to pin down, but I do remember clearly how I felt in the dream:   happy.  It felt so good to be with him, being held by him, again, and I woke up smiling today.   I don’t dream of him very often; I wish it were otherwise, but the dreams seem to come when I really need them, when I need extra support.   I think that may have been the case this time.

It works out that the timing of my annual guitar camp trip coincides with the 6-month interval from the day he died.   So in addition to it having been 18 months, I am facing "our trip" as well.   Four years ago, I picked a guitar camp in Northern California specifically so that he and I could spend time together.   He drove me all the way to camp in Mendocino and went back home to work through the weekend, then came and picked me up 3 days later.   It was a 10-hour round-trip each day, but he did it.   I said to him, "That’s 20 hours driving!"  He said, "Yeah, but 10 hours of it will be with you."

If I wasn’t already in love with him, that probably would’ve done it.

The second year, he stayed up there with me, and we stayed at a B&B.   I am so glad we had that week together; who knew it would be the last camp trip we would have together?   Last year, then, I was without him, flying into a strange airport, handling all my stuff by myself.   My friend B took care of me, and it’s a good thing, too.  As soon as I came out of the dark terminal and saw the city, I started crying, and was still sniffling when she and I met up at the car rental counter.

This year I’ve been trying to avoid working myself into a heavy dread of this trip, and I think I’ve done pretty well.   I was helped out in this by the organizers canceling camp two and a half weeks ago.  Being that B and I already had our tickets bought and no easy alternative for using them, we decided to meet up in San Francisco anyway and have a long-weekend pajama party with guitars.   We managed to get in touch with several others in the area and will meet with them, too, on Sunday.  So this is a very different trip, not "our trip," really; my anticipation of it is different, and he is not the prime expected attraction of it, because he’s not here.  Frankly, a weekend in The City with a girlfriend would’ve never happened if he were.  Instead, once camp was cancelled, I would’ve told B "so sorry," and luxuriated in an entire week with him.

I’m actually not too disappointed that camp was canceled; I don’t have to face all those familiar landmarks and abandoned habits he and I had created in two years.    It was tough last year, so the change in plans seems like a blessing, however unexpected and unasked for.   I’m looking at it as a chance to have new positive experiences in San Francisco, and make new positive memories, instead of only having old positive memories ever-so-slightly tainted by the loss of the dear man I made them with.

It was at A’s side that I’ve done most of my exploring of San Francisco, and it was at his side that I learned to love it.   It is not our trip, but I will be in "our" city, and there will be ghosts.  The last time I was in San Francisco was almost a year ago, to attend a concert outing with his gang organized in his honor last February.   It was a hard trip for me, and the emotional hangover was even worse.  I sank deeply into grief, as if I’d gone backwards, for at least 2 weeks after. 

As I was getting things organized and packed last night, my lack of focusing on him in regards to this trip came to an end.   As I wrote to him in my journal, "B is great, but I’d still rather be seeing you."   It’s true.  No matter what the future brings, this will always be our trip in my heart, and I will miss him not being there with me.   And though I didn’t write it down, I felt a barely articulated hope flicker through my head that perhaps I’d have a dream of him, letting me know he was with me as I faced this second year in California without him.   But I didn’t ask him.  I’ve asked him many, many times to visit me in my dreams, but he doesn’t come on command.  So it was extra-special that I dreamed of him last night.   He heard what I had not dared to speak, and I won’t be going to California without him after all.  I didn’t really think I would be, but it’s nice to have confirmation.

All morning as I got ready for work I reveled in the memory of the dream, so clear and tangible, and I smiled as I wrapped myself in the warm fuzziness of love, the safety of his strong arms and gentle embrace.   And then, as I was driving to work, I suddenly felt this gulp of grief overtake me, and tears came to my eyes.  Because in my dream, I had him back, and he was so him, and we were so us, and in that moment I understood with perfect, painful clarity what I’m missing. 

I’m trying hard to hold on to the dream and the closeness I felt.  There is a Todd Rundgren song that speaks to the place I find myself in since he left.   I listen to this one over and over again.  I’ll leave you with it. 

(If you click on the title of the song below, you can hear it; the homemade video’s strange, but it has good quality audio.)

Dream Goes on Forever  

You’re so far away and so long ago
But my dream goes on forever
And how much I loved you you’ll never know
’til you join me within my dream