Time

Two nights ago, I had the most vivid dream. It was one of many that I have had about communication. I had a piece of special cloth and thread. The cloth was a red plaid with golden yellow cross marks, and the thread was pink. I embroidered on it the words, "I sure do miss you, Alan."

As I watched the fabric, in a hand that was distinctly Alan's, an embroidered pair of beautiful silver skates appeared. They had rabbits engraved on them. And I knew as I watched the embroidery work that though Alan didn't like using the pink, he was active, happy, up, playing, mobile. He was being a normal little boy and having a good time wherever he was.

Once finished, the fabric was such a treasure. I held onto it tightly with both hands. And when I woke up, my left hand was clenched so tightly that it's still a little sore.
And so once again, I find myself digging my heels in as unslowable, unstoppable time keeps marching on to October. This happened as 2008 came to a close: I didn't want 2009 to come. It wasn't fair, wasn't right, wasn't natural that a year would exist in which Alan wasn't here. Now I don't want it to have been a full year without him. Most people would say that time heals all wounds, but I'm still railing against it.
I remember when I first heard. My initial reaction was to say out loud, "I'm so glad." But I was glad he wasn't in pain, glad he was free from worry and strife and his uncomfortable mortal coil. And I still am. Now I'm so glad he's somewhere skating on silver skates. But the vast gap between us is more difficult than I ever imagined.

We sure do miss you, Alan.

Photo courtesy of FreeFoto.