Comfort

I dream of Colby, which I have not done for more than a month. We are in a house. There are lots of people here, people who are all part of a family, Colby's family. There must be more than thirty people on the ground level, all of whom love and adore Colby, and he them.

Colby shows me around the spacious rooms, then we walk out the back door into a beautiful garden. The garden and its wondrous flowers give way to a meadow and Colby and I walk through it.

"I want to stay here with you," I say. "It is too hard without you."

Colby tells me that is not possible, that good things are coming my way. Soon. He says he is with me most of the time, that he is helping create these good things. His life, he says, was complete. He learned all he needed to know and it was his time to go. Now he helps me, helps Colby's Army.

As we walk, Colby is on my left. Unlike other dreams where he wears a light blue short sleeved dress shirt or a light polo shirt, this time he has on a brown long sleeved T-shirt. The light blue jeans and white athletic shoes are the same. He drapes his right arm around me as we walk and pulls me tight. I feel his touch, feel him supporting me as we walk.  I am awake now, aren't I? I think I am.

I turn to Colby, but he is gone. I look at the tall green grass of the meadow. There are snow-capped mountains in the far distance. The sun is bright and the sky is a soft blue, but it is not hot. Nor is it cold. There is a lake to my far right. I turn to walk back to the house and realize I am standing next to my bed.

That morning I am presented with three wonderful career opportunities. I feel Colby's arm draped around my shoulder as I accept each one.

Fear

I was recently asked how I had changed the most since Colby passed away. There have been so many changes but I'd have to say the biggest change is fear. I no longer have any fear. The worst thing in the world has already happened. What else is there to be afraid of?

I used to be afraid of heights, of flying, of drowning, of Colby not being able to breathe. Now, Colby is no longer breathing and I am drowning, so heights and flying are no longer an issue. Radiation from leaky Japanese nuclear conductors? No fear. Terrorists bombing a building I am in? Earthquakes, car accidents, illness, electrocution? I am not afraid.

That said, in integrating this lack of fear into my life I am aware that I must not be too bold. I must not take too many risks, especially risks that could endanger others. This makes me a more cautious driver than I was before. I am more aware of the possibilities of children running into a street or elderly people tripping and falling. Somehow, my lack of fear has made me more able to spot danger for others. Maybe my natural maternal protectiveness over my child has transferred to the world in general. I am terrified for others, but not for myself. Never for myself.

Undo

Undo it. Take it Back

Undo it, take it back,
make every day the previous one
until I am returned to the day
before the one that made you gone.
Or set me on an airplane traveling west,
crossing the date line again and again,
losing this day, then that,
until the day of loss still lies ahead,
and you are here instead of sorrow.

Nessa Rapoport, A Woman's Book of Grieving