No Cure for Saturday Night Insomnia
Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Crimes to the Third Degree.
I can’t sleep right now and I refuse to meditate anymore tonight. Sometimes these meditative visions…journeys…whatever they are…are more disturbing than nightmares, and this one has me crying. Hard. I can’t stop. I cannot stop.
I’ve taken a journey, and it’s into the future…again. I’ve started going all over the place, all over time, in the past couple of months. These trips into the future sometimes land me inside another person’s physical being as well as all the emotions inside them.
But I’ve never had a vision that upsets me like this one does.
I don’t know what happens between now and then, whether it’s happiness together or a lifetime of loneliness, but in this moment in the future, it’s grief and regret. And it’s not mine.
But it’s about me.
This feels a long way off, maybe 50 years, maybe longer. And there’s no current man or boy in my life that this could be. It’s not my ex. Not a son of mine. Not a brother.
I write this now in hopes that someone will share it with him then.
I am in a body that’s old, a man’s body, and I feel his weariness and the deep sadness that slices through him with every breath he takes. He is ready to leave this world. He no longer wants to be in it alone, and I have already left it.
I don’t know the circumstances. That much is hidden from me.
I don’t know if he’s just heard of my passing or if he’s known of it for years, but I’m there with him, hugging his soul close to mine and I think he knows I’m there.
I cannot see his face. I’m within his body, within his third eye and his closed throat and his raw heart chakra. He has had many emotional ups and downs in his life, but he has never been shattered like he is at this moment when he feels utterly, completely alone…without me…and all he can do is regret however many years passed without me.
Wasted time, I hear him think, and I’m right there in his head, caught in his thoughts.
I look down and see his hands. Beautiful once, I think, and now with loose skin, wrinkles, knuckles large and throbbing. He rubs his ring finger, where a wedding band may once have been but I don’t sense it there now. I think he’s in a hospital or a nursing home.
Maybe they’ve taken his adornments.
Maybe he no longer wears a band over arthritic knuckles.
Maybe he never wore one at all.
Maybe it’s there but he doesn’t feel it.
But it’s that spot on his finger that prickles and that he touches automatically.
I feel the grief bubbling up out of his chest, feel his shoulders shaking as he cries, hear the rasp in his voice. He curses himself, curses me for my absence.
Feeling his hurt…hurts…so much.
This grief is so strong that I can hardly bear it, but the only way that I can is knowing that he knows…will know…that I truly loved him…or will.
And this moment, this is the moment when he chooses to no longer be in this world without me. He is ready to pass over now. To be with me again.
Because he knows I’ve been waiting for him.