He was the old Ian, talking constantly, walking, recounting tiny details of his day. He was telling me that over the past week, he was really disappointed that I hadn't bought any juice at the grocery store, because he was sick of water. And I was so happy.
And then I woke up, the dream ending, turning over in bed to see my disabled Ian. And as each time I have these dreams, I wake up to a reality that feels colder, sadder, and not as fun as my dreams. The healthy Ian slips back into the past and a fractured day follows, a result of the absolute strangeness of brain injuries. A strangeness that forces me to be in love with two versions of Ian.
Unfortunately, I don't know what to do with dreams that are happier than life. It's probably normal, but without getting into interpreting dreams which I've never loved to do, I fall short in understanding what god is doing in us while we sleep. If even the winds obey him, then surely my dreams do too. And that's where I get stuck - why would god give me little glimpses of life with Ian better, only to snap me back into sadness with my alarm?
I don't want to stay there, though. Instead, I'd rather think of these dreams as being preludes to heaven. That's the only place that I'm guaranteed to see healthy Ian. And that's where we will know happiness, fully.
Instead of dreading these dreams, maybe I should welcome them. Or, I can at least try.
Thank you, always