It is 5:15 am and I’m having another dream about you. Last night my host sister asked me how old you were when you died and told me that the photo of you on my phone hugging me is nice.
I used to dream a lot; dream a lot about a lot of nothing. After you died I stopped dreaming, or just stopped remembering my dreams. Nearly a year later I began to dream again. Since arriving in Nepal I haven’t had many good dreams that I can remember. I think that I push all of my sad thoughts to the night and then have nightmares about them. Nightmares about many people that I used to know but do not now, nightmares of feeling alone, of being abandoned, nightmares that I am not good enough.
Last night though I didn’t have a nightmare. I dreamt that you were alive and you were able to watch me and what I am doing here. In my dream though, you died again except this time I didn’t cry. Everyone around me did, but I didn’t.
You are probably the person I think of the most while I am here. I wonder what you can see, what you can feel, if you can feel. I wonder if you know that I do what I do because of you?
I have memories of you. Memories of us. Memories of you telling me about the painful moments in your life. You did so without crying. You shared from a place of strength. You possessed a strength that I still continue to strive for today. I see that strength in every survivor of trauma that I meet. And when I see them I see you and I feel braver not more scared.
If you can feel how I feel, what I feel, then you know that I miss you. I rarely say it because I try not to acknowledge the pain, but I miss you so much.
If I can ask of anything, it’s for the feeling of certainty that I am in the right direction. If I can ask of anything, it’s to put my mind at rest from the past that keeps haunting my sleep. If I can ask of anything, it’s to help me move forward free from resentment and full of forgiveness. If I can ask of anything, it’s that you know that in everything that I do, I do for the two strongest women that have made me who I am today. My two mothers; the one reading this in Canada and the one I’m writing to now.