79. Never

"A dream is a wish your heart makes
When you're fast asleep..."
~Cinderella

A few days ago, it occurred to me that I hadn't cried in a while.  It surprised me.  It's usually more a question of how many times I've cried in one day, rather than a question of how many days it's been since I last broke down and cried.  I guess it was a mistake to start thinking about it.

A night later, I dreamed about my husband.  And then I dreamed about him again.  And then again.  I often pray for him to visit me in my dreams and, as in life, he never lets me down.  In these dreams, I'm overcome with disbelief and elation at his presence - I work myself into a frenzied panic, wondering if it's real and begging him not to leave me again.  I touch his skin, his face, and his body, and every piece of him feels so tangible and concrete.  When I wake up the next morning I can't function for a few hours as I numbly come to the realization for the millionth time that he's not there.  To convey to others who have never lost someone how it feels to know you will never see that person again in this world is like trying to describe how it feels to try and breathe without air.  Never:  it's such a tiny little word, and yet it carries with it the weight of a sadness beyond measure.

As I was out walking Nicki last night, I thought for a moment that maybe Jon would be at my house to surprise me when I got home.  Seconds later, I chastised myself for being so foolish - come on, Jenna, you know better than that at this point.  And yet, I continue to do these things to myself.  No matter how much time goes by, I never seem to stop reaching for the phone to tell Jon my latest news.  I turn toward where he should be sitting at the dinner table to share a funny story...but he's never there - he can't be.  That these things simply cannot happen doesn't seem to fully register in my mind...or maybe the problem is really in my heart.  I'm not a doctor, but, either way, I'm guessing there's no easy fix for this kind of elusive affliction.

So, despite wondering if my tears were on a temporary hiatus, I guess I've answered my own question.  Over the past few days, photos of my husband's smiling face have brought tears to my eyes at the most awkward and inconvenient of times.  Life is like that.  There's never a "good time" for heartbreak, and there's no sweet, melodious soundtrack to take the edge off our emotional woes.

A few weeks after his death on April 7th, 2007, I saw Jon again in my dreams.  He had somehow come back to this world so I could tell him what happened.  As I choked out the words and explained the events of that day, his eyes filled with tears - something I'd never seen before.  His first question was not "what happened to me?" but, rather, "was anyone else hurt?"  I told him yes, that three other men from his truck had died alongside him.  That was what upset him the most - not the fact that he hadn't made it, and not the fact that he would miss out on all life had to offer, but, rather, the fact that three other good Soldiers lost their lives too.  In a way, it really doesn't surprise me.  Selfless is the epitome of what he was, and it's why I continue to love and miss him so much.  The kind of selflessness he embodied is rare, and yet I was fortunate enough to know a man with this quality.  Bittersweet though it is, I hope he continues to visit me in my dreams.  The next time I see him, I want to tell him thank you - thank you for being what I aspire to be and more.  Thank you for loving me.  Thank you...for everything.