Last night I had a dream about Thomas, the first one I've had in years. In fact, it's probably only the third dream I've ever had about him.
My theory is that someone who is so much a part of your waking thoughts doesn't need to be in your sleeping ones too.
In my dream, which is hazy and a little confusing, I somehow found a picture of him that I didn't know existed. Someone was flipping through a stack of pictures and I caught sight of a baby wearing a mint green bonnet and sweater like the ones my Mom made for Thomas, the ones he's buried in.
I couldn't see the picture clearly at first, and I nearly missed it in the flipping, but when I took it and looked at it closely I realized it was my sweet little boy. I held it and looked at it and felt a heart-pounding rush of joy because it was a new picture. it wasn't one of the 40 we have, the 40 I've looked at over and over and over again. The only 40 we'll ever have.
It was new.
I could seem my little boy in a new picture for the first time in three years. A new glimpse of his face, his sandy brown hair, his pudgy little nose, and his eyes and chin that looked so much like My Beloved's.
It might as well have been a cheque for $10 million dollars.
The rush of love and joy somehow washed the dream away. And I woke up without a new picture. Without anything at all.
And I hate that.