Wine Through Water

“I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they’ve gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind.”  -Emily Bronte

I dreamt last night of Shawn.  I remember pages of intricate details from the dream that I wrote about as soon as I woke up.  He was so real in my mind that when I realized I was awake, I literally had to inform myself that Shawn is gone.  It was an odd notification as if my hollow shell understands the reality of his passing, yet my inner core repeatedly needs to be updated and notified.

I am starting to believe that the pain in the center of my heart must not be able to carry the truth of Shawn’s death in a continual sequence.  There must be time-outs, breaks or basic interruptions to the burden of grief.  I am guessing this is where everyday distractions play a role in aiding life to carry on, in addition to day dreams, night dreams, night terrors and the most forgiving state known as sleep. 

I never know when a trigger of remembrance will occur.  Two nights ago, I walked in and out of my front door and upon reentering the house I heard the usual voice tell me, “Shawn has been in an accident.  Shawn has been killed.” The voice seemed audible.  And I stood in frozen thought wondering “How can this be true?  How was this true yesterday and how can it be true tomorrow?” A voice delivers the news and automatically is must be accepted?  Who came up with that rule?  It seems like Life governs with some highly unreasonable and undeserved expectations.

So, I dream.  I dream frequently of Shawn.  I hope in time these dreams bring new colors to my days; changes that don’t paralyze, but heal.  This seems to be the miracle of healing as Emily Bronte describes “wine through water”. 

The hardest part of the miracle process is that most days I feel like I would prefer water to wine.  I was content with the satisfying, thirst quenching water Shawn provided my life.  Now, figuratively, this analogy works well – for my Shawn loved the smooth, warm, truth-tasting experience in a glass of wine.  He would see the gem in the miracle of changing everyday water into the rare treasure of good wine. 

God, grant me a heart that will open up to a rare treasure.  Let me taste truth.  Satisfy my unbelieving, questioning heart. Quench my need to convince myself of this new life, whether I wish to believe or not.  Loss has occurred.  Yet, only if I believe will a miracle happen.  Help me believe that wine is rarer than water.   

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