The pool dream

I had a dream about you last night.  I don't remember all the details anymore, I hate that.  I do know this - you came back, only you weren't you.  You were some other guy.  You know how in dreams you'll see someone you recognize, only they don't look at all like they do in real life?  It was like that. 

In the beginning of the dream you were a bigger guy than me, and by the end we were the same size. In real life, you started out bigger than me, and by the day you died we were almost the same weight, and you seemed to have shrunk a little.

We were in a pool together, with lots of other people.  We were hugging, and we were just moving slowly around the pool, around the people. 

I talked to you, but you weren't talking back.  I vaguely remember telling you I brought you back so I could have more babies.  But it wasn't a sex dream, get your mind out of the gutter.

You know what's really weird?  There was a net, like a badminton net over the pool.

I told my therapist about it this morning.  She said water in dreams often represents the womb.  That makes sense.  I had felt for a long time that I wasn't your wife, I was more like a mother to you.  Only not your mother, we're pretty different. But that somehow I was still raising you up, just like I'm raising up C and G.  I guess I didn't do a very good job of it, huh?  It's a pretty big task, Neil.  Raising a 40-year-old man. 

Anyway, I was kind of surprised that it took two weeks to dream about you.  And then surprised when I did.

I got a letter from your Discover card today.  They knew you were dead, they wanted to know who was managing your estate.  So I called them.  The first question I asked is "who told you?"  I think I was expecting to hear someone's name.  Instead, the guy said "social security."  Oh. I hadn't thought of that.  I have a meeting at the social security office tomorrow.

The morning after you died, I had to meet your sister and parents at the funeral home to start planning your service.  Lots of things about that morning made me cry, but you know what was one of the most upsetting?  When Brad, the funeral director, told me I needed to apply for social security survivor benefits for the kids. 

Did you know that, Neil?  Did you know when you died that your kids get your social security checks until they're 18?  I didn't know that.  I sobbed when he told me that.  I don't want your social security benefits, Neil.  I want you to be here, raising them.  Ignoring them.  Putting them on dangerous motorcycles and running them around the yard.