I have been so palpably missing Jack lately. It seems that I have cried everyday for two weeks straight and being in the car is the worst. What is it about being alone in your car that makes the tears and sad thoughts come down like rain in Seattle? We have had to do extra wash because every t-shirt of Dan's is covered in dry tears and snot from my crying on his chest/shoulder/neck and/or cheeks. When we started going to "For the Love of Christi," they warned us of DWG's...driving while grieving. They said "Sometimes you're going to have to pull over." They weren't kidding.
I went to a counselor for the first time through this whole thing this week. It was nice to talk to someone who wasn't emotionally involved or connected. I felt so much better after leaving and can visit with her again if I need to. I showed her a picture of Jack and she commented on his spark and smile...amazing that people who have never met him can get such an accurate read from a photograph.
I thought it was important to mention seeing a counselor. Throughout this process people comment on "how strong" I have been. Like "being strong" is a compliment or something "good" to be. I know what people really are trying to convey is their admiration. When people say it though, I feel a bit uncomfortable. I know what I am like all the time and no, I am not strong all the time. (Although I firmly believe that there is strength in asking for help and knowing your limitations. We take our cars in for tune-ups without a stigma, why is there such a stigma when we need a tune up for our thoughts/emotions/feelings?) I have amazed myself at times with my ability to see the silver lining in the clouds and to laugh when it seems there is nothing to do but cry! But, in my continuing promise to remain raw, open and honest about this process, I must mention that I am certainly not afraid to break down/freak out/ask for help/et cetera. I have had to do a lot of that lately. I do have my weak moments and it is as important to me to be as open and honest about those as the times thoughout this that I am doing ok. Grief is certainly not a game with a score card. And if it were a game, I am certain that no one would show up to play! Grief would win anyway.
I had my first dream of Jack last week. In my dream we were at the neighborhood pool and he was there, swimming away by himself doing somersaults and having a blast. He was a bit bigger yet his smile was the same. He saw us and swam up to us with excitement (he could swim on his own now!) and was so happy to see us. He had on his navy blue and red lobster swim trunks. In my dream, I hugged him and finally breathed a sigh of relief. "Ah, life is back to normal. The past four months were just a test, a cruel joke, all this time he really was going to come back." He played with Kate and they both laughed as he splashed her. It was like he had never been gone. In my dream, I could feel my body relaxing, like a 300 pound weight had finally been lifted off my shoulder.
How powerful. Are dreams meant to be interpreted or are they just a crazy recollection of all the thoughts/images/experiences that you had over the day? Are awesome dreams worth being startled awake by an alarm clock reminding you that reality is waiting?
I would like to think that it was Jack's way of telling me that he is well and doing fine. That someday, we will all be together again as if this separation never happened. Although I woke with an even deeper longing for him to be here, I will continue to try to be so grateful for what I had. Easier said than done but thank goodness for such great family and friends that are yet to turn me away when I call at all hours. Miraculously they understand me through all my tears...I don't know how they do it!