Nightmares and Dreams

I lost my internet connection last night--no blog.

Today is a month since Jolene's official date of death, the day the coroner pronounced her dead. Will I ever again wear green for St. Patrick's Day?

Tonight (providing the internet is still working) I will blog about those last two horrible days waiting and wondering. But this morning I will catch up on a few other things ...

My dear, wonderful co-workers did it again. They knew how difficult this week has been for me. When I arrived at work yesterday, a beautiful bouquet waited on my desk, along with a card with their individuals prayers and greetings for comfort and joy. I love you all; you have been great and SO supportive.

Mom dreamed about Jolene the same night that I did. She felt the same jolt upon awakening - Jolene's alive! They had it wrong! The return to consciousness. No, she's dead.

God sent us both a reminder that Jolene is alive and well in His house. We just still want her here with us.

Mom finally cried this week (for some reason, tears don't come easily to either one of us.) She's been thinking about one of the songs from the musical Rent. I'm not sure of the title (is it "Will I Lose My Dignity?") The line says something like "will someone wake me from this nightmare?"

Those words did it for her. I can hardly type them without crying myself. I think that's how Jolene often felt; Borderline Personality Disorder created a perpetual nightmarish existence for her. She knew she wouldn't be "cured" of Borderline Personality Disorder, although we both believed she would learn to live with it. A permanent disability, one that would not go away apart from a miracle.

And that's certainly how Mom and I are feeling. Will someone please wake us up from this nightmare? Can we wake up one morning and see Jolene here and now? And like the characters in Rent with terminal AIDS, no, they can't. We won't. It's permanent.

Knowing she is alive and with God lessens our grief for her, but it does little to lessen our loss and loneliness.