I dreamed about you last night. I know I've dreamed about you frequently since the accident, but this is the first dream I've had that was this vivid; so vivid that I've been thinking about it all day long, as I drove from Louisiana to Louisville, Kentucky.
I was at your apartment. I say "your" apartment because it was not "our" apartment. I didn't recognize it, it wasn't some place we, or you, had every lived, and yet it was full of your unfinished crafts and projects (and a cute little gray rabbit who hopped around the room...free range.) I was asking you about why we couldn't be together, why you couldn't come home. You were sad, not because we weren't together anymore, but because you couldn't find a way to help me understand why we couldn't be together. You were happy when we were together, but you were even more happy now. You kept trying to assure me that it was going to be OK, that given time I would be happy again, just not with you. I woke up with a broken (re-broken) heart and I've been fighting it all day.
I think this is probably the result of my heart and my head trying to close the gap between what I rationally know is true, that you won't be back, and what my heart wants to be true, that this is all just a bad dream from which I can still wake up.
As I said, I've been driving all day. When I left Louisiana this morning, my heart was full of expectation, I'm heading home! Over the course of the day, it began to dawn on me that this isn't like the trips I've taken before. Going home used to mean you were there, waiting at the door, ready for a big hug and a kiss. Going home doesn't seem as exciting now.
We're quickly coming up on the 25% milestone. Nearly 1/4 of a year gone since you left. It seems too fast, it doesn't feel right to watch you and Miranda slip this quickly into my "past." My head keeps urging me to move forward, to climb that hill, take those steps; my heart keeps dropping anchor.
I love you. I miss you. Give Miranda a kiss from daddy.