Haunting

My first dream of my husband returning from the dead came about a year ago. He walked into the house with his best friend Spyros. Surprised I told him that he was dead—actually both of them.

“Obviously not. I am standing here.”

“But we had a funeral, well memorial service. Two of them. One in Sacramento. One with bagpipes.” I looked wildly at both of them. “You were cremated. Ashes.”

He smiled his wide grin, “I don’t think so…where are my car keys.”

“You don’t have a car.”

“Sure I do. A truck. It’s out front. Come on honey. I’m late for work.”

“But you are dead. I have a certificate from the government.”

“Well, you need to go to Social Security and straighten that out.”

This is where I wake up in a cold sweat. I don’t think anything is as scary as the Department of Social Security except maybe DMV.

I didn’t tell anyone this dream for a long time. Sounded a bit crazy. But the dreams came more often and intense. I was relieved to see the man I love but felt the frustration of ending this little life I’ve built. Mentally, I was forced to resurrect the life that I had not a few years ago but decades ago.  My husband wasn't ill and wheelchair-bound in the dream. He’s a healthy twenty-something. I’m current me—only tired. After all, I am not sleeping.

Mom said she had similar dreams of her husband, Leo, walking back into her life. He wanted to know why she remarried. Only she hadn’t. A friend said she dreamed her husband was at his desk looking for the papers he left there. Another widow stated her dearly departed looked in their closet for a particular shirt he wanted to wear.

Seems widows go through this revisiting, AKA haunting, as part of the process of grieving. I checked websites on grieving. Many suggest, doing more fun things, travel, charity work, and being with others to knock off the blues. I do all mentioned and more. 

Time is supposed to help. Okay while I’m waiting, my dreams are like a scene from Beetlejuice—I'm holding a line ticket of 9,998,383,750,000 and Social Security is now serving #2. I’m not sure I can wait that long for things to get better.

 Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice.