There is another dream where I wake up in the house of my childhood. I am older and it is Christmas Day. No one is beside me but the space is warm -- the covers pushed back. I get out of the bed and get dressed -- jeans -- a gray sweat shirt -- no shoes. I walk through the house. I stop at the room with the closed door. The door knob is cold. I turn it and push in on the door. The room is empty -- no furniture -- no carpet -- no curtains. The window is open and the winter cold blows at me -- my face -- my chest -- my feet -- cold. Icy. Then, from behind, on my back, a hand -- a voice. "He's gone." I turn and look into the face behind me. Blue eyes. "He's gone." And I look again at the room. Empty. Nothing. I turn to go and from behind me I hear a voice -- quiet -- hushed -- small. "He's gone." And then I wake.



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