I wonder what she’s dreaming?
If often think about this when I’m padding around the house in the middle of the night and my wife, Sue, is sleeping. Sometimes I actually know… and that’s worse. Much worse. These are the times when she moans. Or cries out. Or a tear rolls down her check.
Sadly, I know just what is playing in her mind. I know this even though we have never shared our dreams since Ryan was brutally beaten (by Austin Vantrease and Jonathan May, both of Newark, Delaware). It’s that dream that all is well, but she know better. It’s the dream that hell has in syndication, for our viewing pleasure. A recurring rerun that is meant to hurt upon waking.
What happened to her, our family, and Ryan is constantly tormenting. Even in slumber. I liken it to the unrestful, uneasy sleep when sick with the flu because most people can relate to that. It’s the undercurrent that something is just not right, even when your dreams try to convince otherwise.
Is she dreaming as I dream? The one that comes in two basic forms. Either that Ryan is still young and this hasn’t happened yet, or he is miraculously healed? Life is good again, until…
The real world comes into focus. After all this time, it still takes a minute to grasp the situation when waking-up. Yes, this really did happen. No, Ryan is not young. No, he hasn’t recovered.
How will we make it through another day?