"I felt it, hon" Last night I was a little down because writing brought back memories. I didn't want to tell Cass since I knew it would pass in the morning. In bed, Cass held my hand and asked if I would yearn, years from now when one of us (he in this example) were dead, for today when we could still hold each other's hand. I said I hardly ever yearned for the past. I usually yearn for the future. I don't yearn for something that I know I can't get. It would only hurt more (although when it happens, would I yearn? I don't know unless it actually happens.) I said I would yearn to fast-forward to the future, to also die, so I could be where he was, if he had died first. Even though I didn't know where we went when we died, at least I know that we would be in the same "state." This morning, Cass said that he had dreamt of me, my mother, and my brother. My mother was saying something cruel, I was upset and crying. Cass said, "Don't you know she's crazy, hon? Don't believe what she says." I told Cass that last night I felt a little down because writing brought back bad memories. Cass pointed at himself and said, "I felt it, hon." Copyright (c) 2001-2009 by Jane Chin, All Rights Reserved. Back to Rate of Attrition