I had a dream last night. It featured my wife. It was a short. She showed up at an event of an indeterminate nature. I asked how in the world she got there, since I thought she was in a memory care facility. I can still see her pained facial expressions and her pointing at her feet, indicating that she walked. I was appalled, wondering how the facility could be so careless. Then the dream cut to me wondering how I was going to explain to people she was still alive and me wondering why I ever thought she was dead.

I’m awake now, obviously, and I suppose the dream was the culmination of a Mother’s Day devoid of the mother of my children, plus it was her birthday. Afterall, I thought about her most of the day and I got several detailed messages from her friends saying how much they missed her. I also talked to my daughter who misses her, and she talked about her brother who misses her. So, my brain probably chipped in last night with what it could piece together to create some footage for me because it realized how important she was to everyone and that a good dream might be a nice way to sum things up. Thanks, brain. It was nice to see her again, although maybe next time she could say a few words.

Meanwhile, here in the real world it’s a gray day and I could say it looks like rain but anymore a cloudy sky simply looks like a cloudy sky. Rain hardly falls, and the wind is relentless. That has to be the signature feature of this year’s spring. Wind. It’s a constant. It’s out of the south, which means it’s hot, and I read yesterday that our 100-degree days are about a month and half early. Yippee. I used to love summer. Now it’s just a time of year when I watch plants dry up and die. I never thought I’d ever say this, but I can hardly wait for winter and maybe this is just a dream.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale