When the veil thins in November, you slip like a wraith into my dreams. Seamless, silent, with no space between the last time I held your thin shoulders in my arms.
Pulling our favorite Christmas cookie recipes, we laugh about how many we have chosen. I didn’t know you were dead in this dream. So rare you visit me in my dreams and I always know you are dead. Last night, Morpheus was kind and I had no memory of your death. We sat as in an oval of color, the veil pulled back framing us in white. Seconds, we had only seconds. The veil snapped back, I woke up and you were gone.
I have sought the thin place all day, my mind pushing and only feeling resistance. I have breathed in the air searching for your scent, a hint of you, and nothing. Just tears riding so close to the surface they spill over unbidden. I have nothing new of you, the images of last night’s dream are melting away, I can’t capture them. My heart can’t take a picture and store a dream, they are transient and ephemeral.
Dancing puppy in the moonlight, he came running up to check in as I was trying to capture the beauty of the moon with my camera. I could not capture the blues and pinks of the sky, or the way the branches of the Snowbelle tree framed the moon with arcs of narrow black bark. So I basked in the moon glow and watched the moon light up the black fur of the shepherds with glistening highlights.
The veil thins in November moonlight, but not enough. I can sense you in the beauty of the moon, but you are shrouded, only wisps of memories like the clouds that drape over the moon. I panic when I can’t recreate your voice in my head or draw sharp pictures of you in my mind’s eye.
The veil has closed. I will wait another year until the thinning of the space between you and I.
So beautifully written. How I wish it were just a story that I could read and reread for the beauty that it holds. But instead I know it is a reflection of your suffering. How I wish you never had to live this sorrow.
Your words and friendship are a treasure I hold dear, thank you.
I second Liz’s words completely. Tonight I heard the music in your words, beauty mixing with sorrow and pain, like strains of Rachmaninoff.
Thank you so much Anne. Rachmaninoff knew such great sorrow and unrest in his life, and he wove them into his work, complex, haunting, and beautiful. Always the double edged sword is life, exquisite sorrow and incomparable beauty. I am so grateful for the gift of your company on this journey of life.
Always so eloquent in your grief.
A friend recently sent me a book on Audible called ” Already Here.” by Dr. Leo Galland, a doctor who lost his young adult son and received messages from him after his death. I wonder if you might enjoy it.
Grateful for your writing,
Melinda
Dear Melinda, Forgive me for taking so long in thanking you for your beautiful note! Thank you for your continuing encouragement. Wishing you and your house a beautiful season of light.