John and Mom and I and a collection of kids which I assume were the boys and their cousins were all at a holiday party on a snowy winter evening. The house was a large well appointed colonial in a New England town full of similar houses huddled together along irregular streets, rather like Marblehead. It was some distance from Jackson. I had caught a ride to the party with the John and Mom. It was now about 9PM and they were eager to leave so we gathered up on coats and scarves and headed out the door. I wanted to be sure and catch a ride home with them because the others were planning on staying quite a bit later. I lingered a minute in saying goodbye to the host and hostess. Although I do not remember who they were, they were gracious and it had been a very pleasant evening.

When I stepped outside John and Mom were already in the car waiting in front of the door. I walked around to the passenger side and opened the rear door to get into the back seat behind Mom but John was inpatient and began to move forward before I had time to hop in. I had to let go of the door and before I realized what was happening John had pulled out of the driveway and was headed down the street. I ran out into the snowy street, shouting and waving my arms under the cold streetlights but John could not hear me. Then I thought I might be able to intercept him if I ran across a little park to the main street since he might be turning that way. In my bare feet now, I ran up the snow-covered sidewalk to the main street but it was empty of cars. Then I tried the next street over. There was some activity there; a train had run into a pickup truck and there were aid vehicles and flashing lights. For a moment I had hope that maybe they had been caught in the backup behind the accident, but no, they had not. They were gone and I could not get home. Even if I'd been wearing shoes and it was not snowing and nighttime, I still would not have been able to follow them. It was too far to run.

The dream went on a little bit. I slipped and slid back down the way I had come up, my bare feet lacking traction in the snow. The street was crowded with people dressed in wool coats and scarves and walking their dogs on long vinyl-covered leashes. I kept getting entangled in the leashes. I didn't know where I was going to go.

As I considered the dream after waking up, a feeling of irreplaceable loss swept over me. John would talk casually from time to time about how this or that would happen "after we're gone" and I didn't think much about it, but as I considered the dream I realized that John's passing would leave a hole in my heart which could not be filled. My whole life it seemed, he and Mom had been there for me. From the dark time at Exeter when I always knew I could call home and just hearing them on the other end of the line would encourage me, through college when home was always where I wanted to return during vacations, to Seattle when Susan and I, and later with the boys, would come "home" for Christmas, John was always available, interested, willing to help financially or to lend emotional support. John invited us on vacations and paid our way. John took care of Brookside Farm, tended the garden, fixed the plumbing, stocked the icehouse with firewood and kept the truck running. He called every week to pass along news of the family, Sarah and Eric, the weather, the changing of the seasons.
How could I ever let him go?