I have dreamed of Sam for the past three nights. It's always great to see her in them, because she's usually healthy and smiling. Only once did she appear as her post-chemo self. But last night was kind of odd. The two of us were walking outside at night - very late at night. At least I assume we were outside because there were no topographical features to the landscape. It was just... dark. I think it was supposed to be winter. I remember being very cold and Sam was wearing her long brown coat from around the time we were married. She was leading me somewhere, and there was this sense of urgency. We came to a little house in the middle of nowhere. I looked in through the window and saw my mom's parents (who currently live in Bellingham) inside. My grandfather was watching images of Samantha on the TV, while my grandmother bustled around setting up Christmas decorations and place settings.
It was like we were going to be late for Christmas, but we were showing up at, like, 2AM. We went in through the front door and announced our presence - something that would usually get a big welcome and some hugs and kisses all round. But my grandfather just sat there transfixed on the TV images, and my grandmother continued her busy work with a sad look on her face.
Then my alarm went off.
I don't even know if I want to get into the meaning of this stuff, despite the fact that Sigmund Freud and I share a birthday. I'm not surprised that my grandparents showed up with Sam in a dream. They were very close to her - she loved them as her own, and they her. It was their arrival at our home on Easter this year that prompted Sam's rebound just before she died. They sat on her hospice bed with her and she held them and cried for a long time. Later I asked her what had prompted her surge of energy. She explained, "I thought I'd never see Omi & Opa again." They were devastated by her death. I mean, we all were. But I think they really got hit hard - moreso than typical, I think. I'll say no more on that.
Speaking of dreams, Sam and I watched What Dreams May Come a few years ago, before she was diagnosed. I don't know what she took away from it, but I so identify with the Robin Williams character right now. I'd give up a lot to have Samantha back. I'd be willing to take the Orpheus voyage if there was a chance of retrieving her. I admit it. It's a selfish, selfish thing to want, but I want it.
Goddamnit, I want my wife back.