One thing that's truly amazing in my times of grief is my capability to dream. I've had trouble sleeping since I was a tween, and dreams were things I barely ever remembered. When I did, it was always fragments only. But just today, I dreamed I was wearing a Target "Store Security" jacket outside a BJ's Wholesale and had to wash my hair and beard in the outdoor drinking fountain several times, then got accused by BJ's store security (who wore similar jackets) that I'd "poisoned the well" and they were gonna called the cops, so I fled the scene. I've also had dreams about my wife, both miraculous and horrifying.
But I can also, against all logic and sense, dream in the figurative. I still have the desire to write, and write with the purpose of getting published. I've never been published, unless you count the North Star Writing Journal that my teacher in second grade got me into, which you shouldn't. But I can still dream about it. I can't imagine how I still have the ability too...well...imagine. So many parts of me died with her, the fact that that sector of my mind is still alive makes me feel so incredibly fortunate.
Don't get me wrong: I don't really want there to be a future. If my wife can't be there, I don't want to be there. But- if I have to keep living, and have a future without her, at least I can try to have a future I want to be part of.
Double-don't get me wrong: I'm still not sleeping for shit. But I'm dreaming more when I do. And let me tell you, my subconscious is kind of like "Porky In Wackyland" directed by Tim Burton. Which means that if you can weather all the surreal, ghastly stuff that may or may not be out to get you, you might get a disturbingly cute love scene.
Deep down, isn't that the whole world's dream?
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I hope you brought enough comment to share with the whole class!