I dreamed I was completely safe. Last night I sat on the kitchen floor crying, but in the early morning hours, I dreamed I was safe. We had just moved to a new town, but all of our friends and family came to help us (impractical, but lovely). There was a snow storm, and grocery carts were stuck in snow drifts in parking lots, which I found comforting. My dad unexpectedly arrived, and he wasn’t in the kind of pain he’s been in these last few years, and he looked happy. Then J and I found this old house. It had old wooden floors, and a thick wooden banister coming down from the second floor, and a huge great room with mile high ceilings. I was standing in a far bedroom upstairs when I realized how safe I was, and how at home I could be there. The last thing I did in the dream before J woke me up this morning by touching my arm was this: I rushed down the stairs and threw myself at her and told her the house was perfect, and that the bedroom upstairs would be ours. It wasn’t that losing Emmett hadn’t happened, it was that there was peace surrounding the loss. I felt safe and full of joy, and carrying Emmett and our loss of her was a part of that.