so much to say

last night i had a sad, sad dream. i was trying to fall asleep (in my dream) but i couldn't, so i got up and went to my living room to get another writing assignment. i don't know why i was doing writing assignments or why i would seek them out in my living room, but that's what was happening. i got to my living room and linda c. was sitting in my "book nook" with kim m. linda and kim are two of my high school teachers, each of whom played quite a significant role in my life, though dramatically different from one another. linda gave me a writing assignment but i didn't work on it. instead linda and kim (and a third person whom i cannot identify but was also significant in my dream) and i went for a walk to discuss my life. we walked and talked and soon i found myself sitting on a couch across from linda. **in real life i met linda when i was 17 years old. she played a primary role in initiating my academic direction and interest. meeting linda and her family is a moment in my own history that i have always viewed as pivotal and profoundly inspiring. i was a different person after i met them and the new direction came to define who i am and my primary interests in my life. i have thought of linda often with immense gratitude and love, but never quite got around to telling her all the things i have to tell her. i never got to thank her for introducing me to the fantastic world of literature and history and, well, intellect. i never told her that she changed my life. linda died in august of 2004 and i hadn't seen her in over 10 years. the news of her death was shocking to me and continues to be a reality that i have great difficulty accepting. she is among the most loving, compassionate, brilliant and dedicated people i will ever know. but i never told her that either.** linda and i were chatting away and i was telling her repeatedly how grateful i was to have this opportunity to talk to her again and tell her all the things i was afraid i would never get the chance to tell her. as i was talking i became aware that linda was dead and that my conversation with her was not real. then she physically faded away and i was left staring at the emptiness of the room speaking aloud to a woman who is not there and cannot hear me. just as i did so many times in my quiet, alone times in the months after linda's death. rambling incessantly with gratitude and regret and a tinge of shame while the object of my discussion vanished without warning.