My dreams drag me back into my past; into lives and loves long forgotten, and my mind follows, driven by nostalgia, full of hope. Last night, it was my former husband, inviting me back to the marital home, needing my help, and I naively following, thinking all is forgiven; life moves on. We don’t make it past the local variety store, and a few old neighbours before I realize that I am mistaken. There is no innocent intent here, only an attempt to use me once again, and the rage surfaces propelling me out of the dream into the light of a new day.
Why do we always associate “the best of times” with the past? Is it easier to look back and gloss over the unpleasantness, focusing only on the good? Why can’t we then do that in the present?
I cannot remember a time when there was not some sort of stress in my life, and yet, undeniably, always an accompanying joy. Today is no different.
Struggling to come to terms with a chronic illness and the life changes that brings, on the back of a year of health hell for my husband, there is stress and times of frustration, however; our love for each other has grown proportionately, with a new depth of caring and compassion. There isn’t a day that goes by that I am not grateful for this man in my life, so that even in the darkest moments I know that I am blessed.
These are the best times, if I am truly honest. These very days in which we wish things were different: wistfully dreaming of another time, a brighter future. There are no better times than right now.
So today, as the sun shines through the window and blows off the nasty remnants of my dream, I sit at the edge of the bed and ponder the perfection of now (or the “perfect imperfection”, as the popular song says) and make a commitment to myself to embrace the day, whatever it brings.