I don’t know what to tell you: grief week 17

The other night I had a dream that I was in my own room, but it was bit and all in shades of white and eggshell. I understood it was a room of healing and it was in Imildris (also known as Rivendale in the Lord of the Rings). The room was beautiful and it was wholly mine. I had a spirit animal with me, but no one else. There was a lot of natural light and that gave me comfort. I love rooms with a lot of natural light.


In the dream, I understood that my mother and father and others from my family were coming to visit. I was getting ready for that when I woke up from my dream.

Because Sam and I related so much to the hobbit and LOTR, I took the meaning of the room of healing to be a room where I was healing from losing Sam, like Frodo’s healing in the same place, only the room was literally and wholly mine. I didn’t have to leave like Frodo did. Others were coming to me. That could mean that, like the faye, I belong with the elves–the fair folk–and that’s where I’d expect my hobbit to come looking for me.

I was alone, except my spirit animal, which I assume would be a cat. But I was expecting family. I suppose a widow, even remarried, might often feel alone in her own world. I suppose the key then is to invite the men in to keep me company until the hobbit arrives.

Narnia, through the Wardrobe
Narnia Panorama

And then we will have counsel. That will be glorious. I can’t wait for that moment. It’s one of the first positive thoughts I’ve had about dying since Sam passed.

I know this may sound strange, and I hope my family remembers this and reads this when I have passed, but I will be SO happy when I die. I guess the challenge is to try and be happy until then. How to get there is the hard part. I don’t know where the road map is for that journey. I don’t think there is one. You have to make it up as you go along.

No one knows how to get to your personal paradise. Not even you.

I don’t know why I’m releasing these on Wednesdays, that’s just how it worked out.