Dreams have always been a personal comfort and place of wonder. My traveled dreamscapes are richly diverse, with beauty unexperienced on my wakeful side. Growing stories throughout my sleep-filled nights, I awaken before light, ready to harvest my thoughts, and serving them up in text. In my dreams, I am an athletic, svelte, tall, very blonde, ageless beauty. I can rollerblade, snow ski, skateboard, and backpack the Pacific Crest Trail from Canada to Mexico in a night. I see the tiniest details and make notes on how they will enrich my writing. All in the night, while peacefully I sleep.
The thing that has escaped me night after night has been one more visit with VST. Mornings have held disappointment as I slowly wake to remember there was no magical meeting the night before. No visit on A sun-kissed island, with azure seas surrounding us, or at our kitchen table at dawn. No last kiss of passion, regret, sadness, or goodbye. Not one more gaze into eyes that held my forever, while giving me a playful wink, or THAT look, which came in many varieties. Looks I learned to translate immediately, whether they drew me in, told me to straighten up and fly right, or ended a conversation. I would settle for just one more time having eye conversations, no matter the topic. I would awake refreshed and full or other dreams, but not the one I wanted so badly. Until a few weeks ago, that is.
I went to sleep after watching half a movie. Nothing new. Oliver was making sweet sleeping-puppy sounds in his crate while I floated off to dreamland, as usual. The next morning, my wish had been fulfilled. VST and I had shared the night before.
We were visiting outdoors in a beautiful place, natural and green. We smiled and talked for most of the dream, quietly savoring the moments we were able to share. He was his younger self, and without any signs of illness. Just my Dr. H. Most of our words remain muffled, shared celestially. Their essence cocooned my heart in peace. Cancer could not rob us of this quiet conversation of souls. Most was just beyond memory’s reach, but there was a portion clearly recalled.
“Darlin, the memorial was fine. Perfect. The words and songs you chose honored our life together, and me in ways that warmed my heart.”
At that moment, I felt a wave a relief that everything was done now.
“It’s great that you sent programs and notes to all the friends that couldn’t come. Nice touch that took extra effort. Thanks for doing that. It was all just beautiful.”
“However……”
However? What was coming next? But what, VST??????? Really????
“You screwed up on one part.”
I knew it. I knew it. Even from beyond the veil, one moment remained in which VST could have done things a bit different, and definitely better. I sighed, wishing so much that he was still here.
“Please explain yourself.”
“Everyone was remembered that needed to be, except for three. Pat, Steve, and Harry. Honey, you forgot to tell them. Please. Tomorrow. Hurry. Send them special notes that explain I have gone. Do it tomorrow. Please don’t forget.”
“I promise.”
That was the revelation I had awaited for months? The only thing I could remember? Not a final, ‘I will love you forever?’ or ‘I have a place saved for you?’ No. Just a reminder than three very important men in his life needed to know he died. A former doctoral classmate, boss, and close work friend? I knew the boss and workmate from our lives spanning 1988 through 2001. Although I had heard about the doctoral friend for 19 years, I had never met him. These three people would have never come to the forefront of my brain, only because I was not VST. His friends were precious to him as mine are to me, but personal to HIM.
In the morning, I retrieved “THE BOX” from the closet. If you’re widowed, I assume you have “A BOX”, as well. I have inherited “THE BOX” from Grandparents, and even though the items inside never held a great deal of meaning to me, disposing of something treasured for so many years couldn’t happen. Now I have my own. In VST’s box, there are extra programs, prayer cards, a guest book, and sympathy cards. Every one of them is precious to me, making the box sacred. Everything I needed to complete three last notices that their dear friend was gone.
I penned special notes to each of the three men. Sealed in silver envelopes with program and prayer card, I sent the three cards on their way with love. Mission accomplished VST. You just come back anytime to discuss the missing and loving me parts. This, I handled for you. I went on with my day.
Two weeks later, I heard the mail truck outside. For those of you that still have the luxury of a personal mail box at your drive, you know what a treat it can be. I love 11:30 when I hear the mail lady starting and stopping on her way to house after house, until I hear her engine pause at mine. I went to retrieve the mail and found inside a card addressed to me.
It was a handwritten card that had been sent snail mail. The return address identified it as being from Dr. Pat. The card had a picture of the American flag, something VST respected so much. I opened it to find an entire page filled with manly printing, created with pen and ink.
Dear Joy,
So sad….he was one of the most easy going, happy-go-lucky friends I have had the pleasure to know…..Know he is in heaven….you now have a guardian angel…way too young….lucky to have traveled together….Truly hearbreaking….Am a better person for having known him.
All the sweet things one would expect until I read further.
Will be 60 next July and can retire after 35 years on police force…. CANCER…..diagnosed with leukemia 5 years ago……..dealing with various treatments…..God willing…..
VST’s real life Superman had been hit with his own version of kryptonite. No kevlar vesting could protect him from Cancer’s bullet. After all his service protect millions of people during his 35 year career, he was fighting this alone, as every cancer patientdoes. VST knew. I understood now why THIS was the important thing I needed to remember,
I held the letter in disbelief. The handwriting on the paper spoke volumes from a man I had never met. To a friendship rare and dear formed over years in a doctoral program. A man that was sent a special shout out from the beautiful shadows of my dream. A man so special, VST made sure he was not forgotten.
You just never know what dreams may hold. Or the mail box on a sunny day in September. Reach out and remind Old Friends forgotten about your loved one. Send notes in the mail, taking time to hand write your memories of their importance in your life. Stamp them. Send them. They will brighten a day, possibly giving hope when it is waning. Embrace your dreams. You never know what they will hold.