Member-only story
The Dream
Dealing with death
Ben and I often went to Mount Dora, a quaint village near Orlando. It was our getaway spot. Since he passed, I haven’t been able to think about Mount Dora; it’s too emotionally-charged.
I am not a napper, but I always took an afternoon nap with Ben in Mount Dora. Perhaps because I was away from home without a to-do list swirling in my brain. Perhaps because we walked miles and miles while in Mount Dora, and I was exhausted. No matter the reason, I slept like a baby.
The other night, I dreamt I was napping with Ben in the cottage we always rented in Mount Dora. In my dream, I woke up and looked around the cottage. From the bed, I could see the small living room, the first few feet of the galley kitchen, the hallway to the bathroom, the closet, and the reading nook. I thought about how lucky we were to have discovered that town and the cottage.
Then, I woke up in real life. I looked around my bedroom and was disappointed to see that I wasn’t in Mount Dora, but that was nothing compared to the disappointment when I turned to Ben’s side of the bed and found it empty. I thought,
Ben! Oh my god, Ben is dead! He’s really dead.
It felt like he died all over again.
Since then, I’ve been flooded with memories of Mount Dora — memories I didn’t want to remember. Yes, they were good times, some of the best, but it hurts so much to think about wonderful times with Ben that will never happen again.
Once more, I ask:
When do the wonderful memories start feeling wonderful?
© 2025
