Bill

Recently, a woman I know pulled me aside. She had something to tell me. Last week was the anniversary of her marriage to her first husband. I knew she dreaded this time of year because it brought back up so many sad memories of her husband's last days and his death just before Christmas. She was left a young widow with a small child to care for. I've known her for ten years, but until that moment I never knew his name was Bill and that they'd been married on December 15. In the past, she fell into a dark funk each year which deepened as the fifteenth approached.

This year, however, she went nearly all day before she even remembered that it was the fifteenth. She thought it might be connected to a dream she had the year before in which Bill had been murdered and she had been wounded.

I answered "You were wounded, but you didn't die. It seems you needed to have that one last bad dream."
She nodded in agreement and added softly "I think I'm healed."
"So you think you've done enough grieving?"
She laughed "Yes, it only took thirty-some years!"