We sit together in a crowded bar. We are perched on two bar stools close together. Although the bar is crowded, it seems strangely quiet. I can only hear you as you animatedly tell me a story about something I have apparently missed over these past few months. When the story is over, we share a laugh and sit there silently for a moment, just staring at one another.
I start to speak. I want to tell you so many things and nothing seems to come out right. I start to ramble, “I thought about you last week, when I watched that movie and he told her that he loved her…” and I trail off knowing I haven’t made any sense. But somehow, you know exactly what I meant to say. You smile and nod to let me know that you do. Still you say nothing, but continue to look at me, waiting to hear what I have to say next. I continue, “It’s been more than four months this time, you know.” I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I fan my face to stop them as the lump rises is my throat.
You stand and pull me close to you. You still smell the same. I instinctively wrap my arms around you and lace my fingers into the shaggy hair on the back of your head. You still feel the same. You squeeze back and whisper into my hair. That familiar supportive voice says, “Be strong, Amy. Be strong.” Just as our lips are about to meet, I am jarred by a horrible sound.
What is that terrible noise? It’s my alarm sounding. I glance around the room and see that I am alone in my bed. Suddenly, I am ripped from the wonderful place where I have just been and am thrown abruptly back into reality. For a moment, you were there and I could see, smell, hear and feel you. For a moment, you were mine again.
As I drag myself out of the bed to get ready and begin another day, I can feel those hot tears springing up again. I start to get upset. But then, those words resound inside my head. “Be strong, Amy. Be strong.” And I know, that if I had called you crying like I had wanted to do so badly the night before, that those words are exactly what you would have told me. That’s what you would want me to do.
And that’s what I am doing. I resist the urge to call or write. It’s hard. But I know that is what I need to do for my own sake. I know that you would be there for me if I reached out to you. But the time and distance is making me stronger daily. I think maybe God knew how much I needed you last night. He knew that I needed your words of comfort for just a moment and He gave it to me in that dream. It was a message. Not a sign that you would be back, but a reminder to myself to push on and move forward. The healing has been slow but I am taking big steps these days. I am ok. I am stronger than I think. Thank you for helping me remember.
