What Dreams May Come

Night time is always the most difficult for me. Most nights lately, I sleep on his “side” of the bed, trying to fill the emptiness next to me. In some small way, it makes me feel less lonely than reaching to my left and not finding him. It also makes me laugh to think about our sides, and how adamant he was about sleeping on the left. For being so care free, Chris was very particular about certain things, like his side of the bed and seafood enchiladas. 

Bed time was our time. When the laptops were closed, the television turned off, it was our time to talk and decompress from the day. Without ever establishing a “rule” it was very rare for us to go to bed at different times. Bed time was a family matter, dog included.

Chris would always tell me how tired he was, brush his teeth, climb into bed and start talking for at least 30 minutes. Or sing songs. Or Dutch Oven me. (It’s weird what you start to miss). And once he was tired, he slept like a rock. I envied that trait while I would lay awake twisting and turning, vying for space on our king size bed. 

Chris and Schrodie had the same technique for sleeping in the bed: stay as close to me as possible. Which is endearingly sweet in theory, but has literally forced me off the bed more than once. Even dead asleep, Chris had to be touching me. In our downsized English bed, I was even more cramped, but loved every minute of it. Schrodie continues to fulfill his bed hogging responsibilities—which provides me some sense of normalcy at least.

Now, the transition from night to morning is filled with dreams that leave me hopeful, confused, and sad. The same dream presents itself in different fashions—me frustrated, not understanding, until I realize what is missing is Chris. It’s sort of like Ground Hog Day, just different tragic scenarios-- which is fitting I suppose, given that Chris loved that movie.

I wrote the following poem to describe what these dreams are like:

In my dreams, I seek you out

finding empty corners

and enigmas that confuse me.

I hunger, waiting to find you,

unsatisfied by empty promises,

people and things that will never be you.

I wait, knowing there is something,

far greater, if only

I can find the path that leads to you.

No arms, but yours, can bring me comfort,

No other smile can make me laugh,

It is only your presence that completes me.

In the moment I find you,

I know a peace that breaks my heart,

open, with hope and relief.

I cling to you tightly, fearing it won’t last.

Your face is the only face with clarity,

your touch, exactly as I remember.

You stay with me until my sadness reminds me,

you are no longer mine to touch.

Reality invades stolen moments with you,

revealing my hopeful heart,

has developed another ruse,

to disguise its shattered disposition.

Waking is another way I lose you, every day,

pulling me from your arms into empty sheets,

stained with tears I am almost too tired to cry.

Still, if dreaming is all I have of you,

to relive you for a moment,

is worth a thousand salty tears.

It is a bittersweet reunion,

bringing both joy and sadness,

finding you and losing you.

As in life, I could not choose any other way.

My heart is compelled to find you,

if only when I dream.

By Sarah Stover

While I am used to sleeping without Chris, thanks to deployments, the gravity of his absence is taking adjustment. It gets a little better, a little easier to fall asleep… some nights. There are still many tears on which I sail off to sleep. My tears remind me of how deeply we loved, and that is its own sense of comfort.