Hellish Night, Heavenly Day

Dear John,

 

It's been 24 hours of contrasts - a hellish night followed by a heavenly day. Let me tell you about it.

 

I finally got to sleep around 2:30 this morning. Again, I need you here! I discovered this morning that I'd missed last night's pills - not a good thing for a fibromite. So I couldn't sleep, and ended up taking Benadryl. I should have just stayed awake. I had 8 hours of the most vivid, awful nightmares that I've ever had. It started out the usual way - you were in the hospital and I was fighting to get you treated. During the course of several installments, I dreamed your death 3 times. Then I dreamed my death - it's the first time I've ever done that. Along the way I got a full-time critical care job, got paid $2009 that I wasn't supposed to, got hit on in a mall parking lot, was chased by mobsters, saw a hotel fall down, and found myself on a freeway in New England with no idea how I got there. It was 3:00 this afternoon before I had my head out of those dreams. Now I'm afraid to go to bed tonight, afraid I'll do I all over again. Nasty.

 

Family isn't Defined by Blood!

But today was an unexpectedly delightful Mother's Day. Jen, Bob, and Elyssa came over with cards and a key lime pie. Jen picked up the old computer, monitor, mouse, lamp, et cetera. While they were here, Ron and Mike came over for a Godmother's Day visit, all of them carried the last two bookcases and my crafting case upstairs, and Bob refilled the water softener. Ron brought chocolate - wise man - and he and Mike got me a card and a gift certificate, bless their hearts. Jethro and Hunter even had Jen get cards from them. So I had a house full of feet and paws today.

 

It all reminds me of a passage in Isaiah that has been important to me since we found out that you couldn't have children: The children of the desolate woman will be more than the children of her that is married. I do have an amazing and wonderful collection of children, official and un-official. I am grateful for all of them and love them dearly. It was a good day.

 

Now I'm afraid that I have to get up my courage and go to bed. Your mother says dreaming about your death every night is normal - I've been doing it again this week. Last night's dreams were certainly exciting and entertaining, but feel free to do something mundane and boring when you visit me tonight. And please don't come and die on me all over again! Once was much more than enough.

 

I love you so much! You were the only thing missing today. Love you always and forever,

Joan.