I barely write anymore. Every time I think about it, I say to myself no one wants to hear about the life of a 32 year old single mother who has put on weight, doesn’t have a job and lays in bed swiping through pathetic attempts at online dating.

Ouch. That sounded harsh.

But here I am sitting at my keyboard as the sun has barely comes up because I’ve awoken from the dream again.

Let’s be honest, it’s a full fledged horror story nightmare and I’m still sweaty from tossing and turning all the way through it.

I wish I could say this is the first time it’s happened but it sneaks into my sleep when I least expect it or usually on a night when I feel like I’m doing okay.

Tears are filling my eyes as I try and recount what my brain has just shown me. If toddler movies have taught me anything the dream production team in my head is a wacky place.

I’m running, I’m running and searching for Joe. He’s alive in my dream but I thought he was dead. I realize he’s been all alone, dying alone and I can’t find him. He’s in a giant hotel when I run to the front desk and ask where he is, she scribbles down a room number on a white paper. He’s on floor 8. I’m preparing myself to see him because I know it can’t be good, I mean he’s been here dying alone though I’m sure he’s already dead because my real brain and my dream brain are at odds in this haze of sleep.

I search for floor 8 to get to him, please let me get there in time but there’s no floor 8. There’s 7 straight into floor 9. I can’t find floor 8 because there is no floor 8 but I know he’s there somewhere. He left me a voicemail saying he is dying but I thought he was already gone so I have to get to him, please let me get to him.

I’m running and I’m searching and then I wake up.

Now I lay here and I’m still searching. The nightmare doesn’t end as I catch my breath and try and remind myself the reality verse the terrifying scenes played out in dreamland.

He’s gone. I was there. I did say goodbye but the truth of the dream is that I still can’t find him.

Grief is such a shit show.

1 year and 9 months without him. I really thought this would get easier.

You watch as the world keeps moving but you’re standing still.

It’s like when I came home from studying abroad in Spain for a semester and everyone knew the new Gwen Stefani song, “This SH*T is Bananas”. ¬†As my friends shouted, “B-A-N-A-N-A-S” I stared in shock that they knew the words and I didn’t. They had all still been living and going on with their own lives while I was half a world away.

That’s how grief feels.

How is everyone living while I am still so far away?

This shit is 100% totally bananas.