There are nights when the dreams are so lucid, exploding with color and detail. I can’t really call them nightmares, since my mind typically shows Ryan in various stages of recovery. The days, well, these are nightmares.
Without fail, waking hours that follow an especially “good” dream are the hardest. Words simply cannot explain the heartache upon waking to know this is not a dream. Reality first seeps, then pours in. It’s a tidal wave of despair that sweeps me up and tosses me around at will.
Metaphorically, my sanity is the shore line. I start moving toward it, but all the time feel
like I’m being challenged with every stroke. Wakefulness is a rip-tide that prevents me from taking a direct path to composure.
Yea, I know I’m being a bit flowery here, but just humor me. I’m hurting. There always exists an underlying ache that, every now and then, resurfaces as agonizing mental pain. Today is such a day. I’m guessing it is because my family is not together right now. Kari is at WVU (right where she should be), Sue is in New York, and Ryan… well, who knows where he is right now.