He Never Looked Back

I had a dream about Robb.

Previously, he has always been dressed the same. This time, he was dressed to the nines. And he was young, happy, strong, happy, vibrant, and happy.

He didn't stop smiling.

He was dancing in the street with many other people, all dressed to his calibre.

I didn't get to dance with him. I didn't join the party.

I had to stay home to protect our house (which was familiar to me in the dream and yet not where we have ever lived) and the children.

And he came and went, busily and happily, seemingly in a parade with his fellow dancing enthusiasts. There were many of them.

There were classy white lights, music, floats, and dancing, dancing, dancing.

And I had to stay home.

And in all his comings and goings, he never looked my way. He never looked at me. He never made eye contact. He never looked back.

I woke up furious.

"You didn't even look at me. Nothing. Nothing? You couldn't even look my way. I'm your wife. Look at me. Always look at me."

I spent the day so mad at him.

Perhaps if a dream analyst took a close look at my night's wanderings, he might reveal some symbolism. And I guess it doesn't take much of a dream genius to draw some parallels of my own.

He's with a whole crew of people, and they're dancing, dancing, dancing, dressed in their finest garb of celebration. White lights, music, abundant happiness... it's easy to imagine this in his new daily life.

As much as I can remotely imagine his new daily life.

And I am left behind.

In each of my dreams of him, I am held captive somewhere while I watch him come and go. It makes sense; here I am, held captive in the place he's left behind.

But he didn't even look at me this time. Not a single glance my way. So caught up in his dance party.

He knows what I don't know now. He's happy where he is. Perhaps he understands the fullness of life and identity without the need to glance my way.

Perhaps he doesn't need to look back.

But I still wish he had.