Shake Me From My Sleep

Dear John,

 

First, the good news: I completed my Obamacare sign-up today. I'll be getting the same coverage, with $2000 less in deductible, for nearly $400 less. That's the same as getting a third paycheck every month. I'm very thankful. And I got my courage up and said so on Facebook. I expect to be devoured shortly. But there need to be reminders that there are lots of people like me for whom this is working, and saving from bankruptcy or worse. If I don't show up tomorrow night, you'll know I've been eaten.

 

And now, we need to talk again about your nighttime manners. Every time I sleep longer than six hours, I have nightmares. Last night was ugly - it wasn't only you that died again, but Mama, too. At the end of the dream I returned to your hospital room after getting some lunch, and found you wrapped head-to-toe in white sheets. I woke up screaming, clawing at endless layers of white sheets, trying to reach you.

 

You have to admit that this is excessive. I didn't take a pain pill at bedtime, so don't try to blame it on that. I didn't eat anything unusual, or watch scary stuff on television, or read sad poetry. The only cause I can think of is that today is twenty-one months since you died. But there was no nightmarishness in your death - it felt sacred, not scary. Now I'm afraid to go to bed tonight.

 

So, please pay attention to your manners when you come to visit. I know you have the tremendous disadvantage of being from the Midwest instead of the south, but your mother taught you better than to act like that. Stop that. Come and talk to me, or sit and watch television, or play with the animals. No more nightmares. Okay?

 

Wanting to sleep peacefully with you,

Joan.