My dreams have altered. At the beginning I met my husband in my dreams, and I experienced a mixture of anger and relief. I told him - 'you know the life insurance did not pay out'; he replied, with his lovely smile that always brought me round - 'I know, I'm sorry'. I wanted him to return to me and yet, I wanted him to go - I did not want to be haunted. Dreaming of the dead has a strange allure and yet brings with it a feeling of distaste, as if a forbidden barrier has been crossed. I can't say I relish the experiences but I cannot prevent them from happening.
After a major bereavement, the veils between life and death become thin - sometimes it is hard to discern which side of the breach you are on. It occurred to me that the time would come when I would know more people who are dead than who are alive. I think that death then loses all its fearsome presence - how can it be frightening to walk the path that so many you have loved have already walked? This does not diminish life - instead small details spring from the background: the petal of a rose; the leaves jewelled with dew; the light in a child's eyes; the tea made fresh and hot from the pot. Life becomes precious in the shadows that draw around to comfort and sustain.
After a major bereavement, the veils between life and death become thin - sometimes it is hard to discern which side of the breach you are on. It occurred to me that the time would come when I would know more people who are dead than who are alive. I think that death then loses all its fearsome presence - how can it be frightening to walk the path that so many you have loved have already walked? This does not diminish life - instead small details spring from the background: the petal of a rose; the leaves jewelled with dew; the light in a child's eyes; the tea made fresh and hot from the pot. Life becomes precious in the shadows that draw around to comfort and sustain.
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