Dreaming the Dreams ...

Last night, I dreamed we were all going somewhere in the car. Me, my hubby, my parents, and, for some reason, one pair of my aunts and uncles. And Tex. I have no idea where we were going. Basically, we were just driving and driving and driving ... maybe with no real destination in mind? Or maybe I just didn't want to get there, because I knew, in the back of my mind, Tex would be gone when we arrived. I knew he wasn't really there, you know? Even though he felt so real. He sounded so real, with all the silly, huffing-talking noises he used to make. And he seemed so real, too. We were in this huge car -- maybe like a Surburban or something -- that had an extra row of seats in it. And he kept climbing over the seat from the last row to the middle row. He used to do that all the time when we drove places. Tex was a real car dog. He loved going anywhere and everywhere in the car. Everyone in the car kept telling me he was real. They even took pictures of him and everything, just to prove it. But I knew. I just knew he wasn't real. I hugged him and buried my face in his soft fur, just hoping I could be wrong. Just wanting everyone around me to be right. Just savoring this one moment and wanting it to last forever. Like, maybe I could hold my breath and not move and not think and, then, nothing would change.

But I woke up this morning, and, of course, he wasn't real. I knew it all along, but, still ...

I feel a bit hollow and cold. And terribly sad.

I hate that.