Last night I dreamed that Frank came home. That he had just been missing all this time, and someone else had been taking care of him, but now he was home.
It was a bit disorienting to wake up and remember why he can't come home. My heart keeps breaking over and over again.
I don't want to talk to anyone about it because it seems a bit nuts; there's this little voice telling me that it's not reasonable to grieve this much over a cat. But here I am.
When Frank actually was missing for two weeks a few years ago, I
dreamed three times about him coming home. I've actually been surprised
that I haven't dreamed about it before now. I figured the difference was
that I know this time. There is no wondering.
I have no idea if writing about this will help, but it seems like it can't hurt anyway.