I had my dream…

At least I think it was “my” dream.
Everyone who loses someone has their own theory on how our loved one lets us know that they’re OK. And inevitably, whatever happens after our time on the Earth, we seem to end up “ok”.

Some think it’s a sign like a flower that hadn’t bloomed for years, now blooms on the day of their passing. Others the sound of their child’s voice, so much like their grandmas’ voice. Others is the odd signs – like a license plate with their name or their birthday numbers in your receipt, a time of day that you keep seeing. Dimes. I could go on.

But the BIG one is the dream.

The dream where they smile, talk to you about nonsense, but generally convey that they are, indeed OK. I really wanted mine. I think I finally got it. Don’t’ get all scientific and tell me that dreams are just a recap of a brains’ hot mess of conscious and subconscious. Yeah Yeah, I know. Let me have this. You’ll want it one day, too.

So in my dream, I woke up from the bedroom as it is now. The ‘new’ design. I went to the loo, only to find there is no toilet. It is only tiles. I peeked through the window (which was in a slightly different location) to see it open and the curtains wet. Somebody had seriously stolen my freaking leaking toilet AND tiled the floor. (it leaked when John was here, too – but only slightly. Getting it fixed was on the list). Then I sat down, resigned I had no loo, only to see a bidet where the toilet once was. John loved the idea of getting a bidet. Don’t ask. I won’t even get into the “Squatty Potty” acquisition.

Then in my shock and confusion, I glanced up into the painting that is on the wall, and saw his reflection. Smiling. Kinda giggling.

I called out to him, turned around, and saw his image get more defined, until I could see a semi holograph image of him, in his house coat (I think) and after talking to him about a bit of nonsense, but also trying to ask him why he left, I could, well, I could actually feel him. I could touch his arms and feel them around me. I could feel the little bumps of hair, the coolness, the warmth, the everything about his skin.
His smile was the best. He just seemed content. He seemed OK. I could have stayed in this dream forever.

I woke up, sadly. i was reviewing the dream. Wondering is this THE dream?
It has to be.
It was odd it was all in the bathroom, but it also makes sense. It’s the first room one visits after waking up, usually.
I still have his shaving mug and brush, and his housecoat there. The items bring me comfort.

That dream has made me happy – but in a different way, because of course, I’m typing this through achingly sad tears. It has confused me.

Where is he now?

I asked him if the cats see him.
He said they do.
I asked him if he sent me signs recently.
He said he did – I did get signs… I just wasn’t sure.

I don’t know what else we spoke about, but it was lovely. Some conversations weren’t so much words, but peace and love in a soft breath.

I have often wondered if some of the stupid things we had issues with in the last few months of his life were forgotten, forgiven, gone. They are. I still have regrets over so many things, of course, but this has been a dusting of comfort. This dream, smashed cerebral synapses or spiritual visit, has just turned the candle light up, just a tiny bit. I do feel he was letting me know so many things. Some of those things, I will never understand, but some, I do.

I think he’s OK.
I still miss him so much; that hug, that smile, that soul. But he’s OK.

Gotta run.