No Cure for Saturday Night Insomnia
Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Crimes to the Third Degree.
I canâ€™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 canâ€™t stop. I cannot stop.
Iâ€™ve taken a journey, and itâ€™s into the future…again. Iâ€™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 personâ€™s physical being as well as all the emotions inside them.
But Iâ€™ve never had a vision that upsets me like this one does.
I donâ€™t know what happens between now and then, whether itâ€™s happiness together or a lifetime of loneliness, but in this moment in the future, itâ€™s grief and regret. And itâ€™s not mine.
But itâ€™s about me.
This feels a long way off, maybe 50 years, maybe longer. And thereâ€™s no current man or boy in my life that this could be. Itâ€™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 thatâ€™s old, a manâ€™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 donâ€™t know the circumstances. That much is hidden from me.
I donâ€™t know if heâ€™s just heard of my passing or if heâ€™s known of it for years, but Iâ€™m there with him, hugging his soul close to mine and I think he knows Iâ€™m there.
I cannot see his face. Iâ€™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 Iâ€™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 donâ€™t sense it there now. I think heâ€™s in a hospital or a nursing home.
Maybe theyâ€™ve taken his adornments.
Maybe he no longer wears a band over arthritic knuckles.
Maybe he never wore one at all.
Maybe itâ€™s there but he doesnâ€™t feel it.
But itâ€™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 Iâ€™ve been waiting for him.