I can’t remember the last time I slept well. No matter what time I go to bed or whether or not I take melatonin, I am always awake for some part of the night. It isn’t just that I can’t sleep, even when I do, I have the most vivid, disturbing dreams. People I haven’t seen or thought of in a lifetime play starring roles and many of my dreams are so violent in nature, they remind me of the ones I had when I was pregnant.

Last night, a man I knew in college showed up in my dream. He was the brother of a dear friend of mine and the only blonde, other than Kirk Herbstreit, that I have ever been attracted to. And for one brief moment in time, in all the ways of a naive college girl, I thought he hung the moon. I can’t say today and I’m not sure I could even back then why we never dated. But last night in my dream, he was sitting beside me on a bench somewhere. He said nothing, but he put his arm around my shoulders in a way that my dream-self felt extraordinarily comforting.

Facing me when I woke this morning was a birthday that James didn’t live to have. We knew last year, as we celebrated his 51st, that there wouldn’t be another unless an entire series of miracles occured. But this dream, this ephemeral moment that lingered on my mind as I reluctantly got out of bed, and specifically this gesture by this man so long ago forgotten, reminded me today that sometimes what we hope or wish for isn’t the only path to joy. Even today, knowing the reality of how my dream with James was cut short, I wouldn’t begin to wish any of it away.

I have no idea where this man from my college days is now or the path his life has taken but I would imagine he would feel much the same way. Wherever he is, I am ever so grateful that he showed up in my last night while I slept to remind me of the joy that I found on this path, and to restore my hope that maybe, just maybe, such joy will be found again.