I had an incredibly vivid dream last night.
I was sitting in the kitchen with this fat, bald, round-headed baby on my lap, wiggling her and being silly, and she said something. I don't remember what, but I said "Ohmigosh, Psalm just said a full sentence! And she's only thirteen months!"
And then I woke up. And realized what I'd said there in the dream, and that it had thrown me completely out of sleep.
In some other world, some other universe that's happening alongside this one, Psalm is OK. I don't really put much credit in multiverse theories, but something about that dream was just so real. And it shook me.
It is one thing to know consciously that grief sparks up at odd times. It is quite another to experience it.
Last week, I was lying awake in bed in the early dawn, when there was just enough light coming in through the window to see things. And I had Doug with me, curled up with his back to me, and I was looking at the back of his little head and it hit me like a brick that the back of Psalm's head had looked much the same, and that she should be more than a year old and be the one cuddled up next to me. And it hurt, so I just held him a little closer and went back to sleep...