> I had the most beautiful dream a few days ago.
>
> I will share it here so that I don't forget.
>
> I was visiting family, but I had some time on my own. I was going to meet someone later for dinner, but it was only early afternoon and I was alone in the car. The baby was safely with Tony and everyone else was fine. I was nearing a large bridge across a river. It was a busy bridge, like the George Washington, or one of those busy, old bridges that you could walk across. I decided to take the time to stop and walk the bridge. It was summer, and I was wearing flip flops which were a little awkward on the steps. I was enjoying the freedom of being there on my own, just walking for no reason.
>
> When I got to the other side of the bridge there was a platform. It was a large, cement gathering area with restrooms, an area for hanging out and a view over a large park. I went to the edge and looked over to the grassy area. There were kids running around, playing, sounds of happy families. As I looked over the edge I saw Lev. He was around thirteen or fourteen, with somewhat long, curly hair. I yelled to him, and he saw me and waved. Then he ran up the stairs and around to greet me.
>
> I knew he had been missing. He had been gone a long time. For the first time in a dream, I knew he was dead, yet I was so glad to see him. We hugged and hugged. I lifted him off the ground and swung him around. Then we moved to a back edge of the platform and sat against the wall. We sat there, with him in my lap for hours. I remember feeling the bulk of him, a little chubby around the middle, as I squeezed him. I felt his hair against my cheek, and I smelled him, his head, his hair. I can imagine it, almost taste it now, as I write. We sat there together hugging until it began to get dark and I knew I had to return.
>
> And then the dream was over. And now there is an emptiness in my arms again yet my heart feels fuller for having had the dream.
As time passes I spend more time not in a state of intense grief, yet the grief is almost as strong when it hits and I learn to live with it again.
