Things I can never say to you

There is a chores from a folk song about the lose of a parent that hurt but also helped.

"This house is like his legacy
All the things he meant to me
The things I'll never say
And I try to find a way
To keep the thought at bay
That if we had one more day
Oh, I don't know what I'd say
Yeah, Hell alone knows what I'd say"

" 'Cause it's not shame
It's just something I can't name
And it's not love
Oh, this thing I'm dying of "

-Grace Petrie, This House -Queer as folk album
 

I had a vivid dream like that a few months after my grandfather died way back in 1974. Every once in a while I still shed a tear for him.

I’ve had two such vivid dreams after my wife’s death in August. In the first, we were a bit younger, and talking as we used to. I warned her not to have another seizure. “Remember, what happened the last time,” I said.

Then I remembered that the seizure killed her. I turned to see she was gone, only leaving a small lump of blanket on the bed where she’d been sitting.