I dreamed of Charlie last night. He came to tell me he was sorry, he didn’t mean it. He was taller in the dream; I noticed it right away, that he was starting to hit a growth spurt.
As I’ve said before, I don’t dream of him often. This is the third time since he died. Maybe each dream is another milestone in my process of grief. Maybe this one was caused by a new medication I started; vivid dreams are a known side effect.
Or maybe, each dream is a gift of grace from the universe, connecting my shattered heart to his, wherever his light shines on.