Last night he drove into the driveway and got out of his car. He was wearing jeans, work boots and a black t-shirt with a pocket over the left breast. His glasses were on, his beard and hair were trimmed short, just the way I like them. His smile was so warm and inviting.

I ran to him. I kept touching him, not believing he was really there. His face. His hair. His heart beating in his chest. His blue eyes twinkling.

He was there. He kept smiling at me. I wrapped my arms around him, still not believing he was really there. How could he be? He was dead. I watched him die. He couldn’t’ really be here. But he was. He was real. He was alive. It had all just been a horrible nightmare. Vance was home.

But the nightmare hadn’t come when I was sleeping. It comes every day when I’m awake. I’ve only seen him once in the last three months, and that was in last night’s dream. Then I woke up and once again, he was gone.