This is what I dreamed: My late wife Krista and I were walking through fields of alfalfa near my parent's house -- something we often did when we were first dating. In the dream it was summer and hot and the alfalfa scraped against our jeans as we walked. We were holding hands and Krista kept smiling at me. I turned to say something to her when the dream shifted. Now I was walking the streets of downtown Ogden toward a red brick church with a white steeple. I clutched the hand of my second wife, Julianna. We were dressed in black and heading to Krista's funeral. The sidewalk was crowded with others, also dressed in black, walking to the church. As we approached the church's large wooden doors, the funeral director asked if I wanted a moment alone with Krista's body before services began. I nodded and was taken to a small room in the basement. The room had bare cement walls. A florescent light was suspended from the ceiling. Krista was lying on a stainless steel table directly under the light. She didn't look dead; rather, she looked like she was sleeping. Krista was wearing a forest green dress and matching shoes. Her blonde hair was straight and shoulder length, just the way I recall her wearing it the last year of her life. I stared at the body for a few moments then reached out to hold her hand. Before I touched it Krista opened her eyes and said, "Abel, what are you doing?" That was where the dream ended and why I was unable to fall back asleep at three twenty-one in the morning.
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