The dreams still come, although now they are uninvited. I find myself uninhibited, longing. What did I do to deserve to invite such sweet torture? The moments we are together they are nothing but joy and pleasure, my senses heightened; I feel alive. The problem with dreams is that they are just that, dreams. They are own no portion of my world, my reality. Any pleasure I receive is met with intense sorrow when I awake, because you do not live outside my dreams. There is no touch to be felt, only I alone with my thoughts. My thoughts, continuous torture.
In my dreams, you are well. You are free. Nothing holds you back from even the easiest of tasks, like tying your shoes. In my dreams, you can tie your shoes and ride your bike. In my dreams you aren’t afraid to climb the stairs. In my dreams, other parents don’t whisper about what bad parents they think you have. Why can’t they just tell him to sit still? Why does he flap his arms when he gets excited? Why do loud noises scare him? Can’t they just love him more and make him better? Can’t they change his diet and make him better? In my dreams you get to be Jacob, whatever you want to be.
In my dreams my husband is a father to his children. They learn what a father is supposed to be. He encourages them to be the best they can be, instead of letting them see his back all day long. He participates in their lives, and actually leaves the sanctuary he has built for himself around the computer screen. But a dream is not reality, and that dream is one that will never be realized.
In my dreams I do not hurt myself or other people, and instead I find my happiness. There is no fear, no hurt, no confusion, or loss in my dreams.