Darling, as most of you know, I have been living a cloistered life, not because I chose solitude as a lifestyle, but because my husband’s three year battle with dementia has quietly narrowed our world. Most days I am here in our condo in the sky with ninety percent of my time spent inside these walls, living by a rhythm that doesn’t change much (almost convent-like). I will never leave my Ultimate Concierge’s side during this chapter of his life because I am married to my lifelong Valentine. Still, in my bones, a woman who believes in purpose, which is why I hold tight to my daydreams as proof that even in a smaller world, my inner life can still stretch wide.

I have my pooch, America, who shadows me like a tiny guardian angel with paws. I have kind faces in our building and a few treasured connections outside of it. I have a very large blended family, friendships that have stood the test of time, and the elixir of purpose that keeps me upright when grief tries to fold me in half.

Daydreams Matter 

Daydreams are not an escape hatch, but rather they are sustenance. They are a quiet rebellion against shrinking days. When the walls press in, daydreams remind me that my inner life is still wide, still capable, still mine. And I need that reminder, because the truth is this: I am constantly lonely for my husband’s companionship.

The Kind of Dream You Can Hold

I daydream the most in the shower, which makes me laugh because it feels so ordinary, so human. But daydreaming, darling, is not small. It is a power. Night dreams come and go without our permission. They arrive uninvited, do what they want, and leave us confused or stirred up or unsettled. We have no control over them.

But daydreams? Daydreams are different. We can steer them, shape them and decide where we go and what we build inside our minds. Sometimes that is the only place left where we get to decide anything at all. Daydreams are the rehearsal for what can come next in a woman’s life. They let you try on new purposes. They let you wander through possibilities. They let you breathe in a future before it arrives.

Living a cloistered life has its merit, if I’m honest. It has forced me to shut out noise. It has given me time to reflect. And it has made me pay attention to my inner world in a way I never had to before. My daydreams have become real to me, not because they are happening yet, but because they are guiding me toward what might still be possible.

Why I Cannot “Think About the Past”

My friends and family often say, “When you are sad, think about the past. Think about what you had with Shelly.” They mean well. They want to comfort me. They want to give me something soft to hold. But I cannot do that.

For me, thinking about the past is not a warm blanket. It is a nightmare. Because to remember what I had means I must also face what I will never have again. I will never hear his laugh the way I used to. I will never experience his intellect the way I did for decades. I will never have that easy companionship, the kind that makes ordinary life feel like a private adventure. That is not a daydream for me. That is an open wound.

So when people tell me to go backward, I gently decline. I cannot live there. I have to live forward, even if the future is foggy.

Daydreams Restore My Nervous System

I have always daydreamed. Everyone does on some level. But now I daydream with intention. I listen closely to what my daydreams are telling me. Because, darling, daydreams can be messengers. They show you what you crave. They reveal what you miss. They whisper what you might need next. They can point you toward a new path, even when you’re not ready to walk it yet.

My daydreams restore me because they give my mind breathing room. Living in my condo in the sky for almost three years has narrowed life into daily repetition. Same walls. Same concerns. Same ache. Same vigilance.

Daydreams Open Space

Daydreams pull me out of chronic watchfulness and into possibility. They help me choose, instead of only reacting to what is happening to me. They keep my curiosity alive even as sadness tries to pin me in place. Daydreams do not lock you into your situation. They hand you the director’s chair again.

They allow you to explore outcomes and give you emotional clarity. They help you problem-solve in a gentle way, not by forcing answers, but by giving your mind room to stretch.

Daydreams create a pause when stress, pain, and pressure pile up. They give comfort, offer hope, and best of all, I have control over them. When life feels chaotic, daydreams give me one place where I can decide what happens next. As a woman who has always lived with purpose, my daydreams help me set goals and imagine a path forward. And that, darling, is real self care.

Valentine’s Day and the Love I Cannot Touch

Yesterday was Valentine’s Day. And I have to tell you, daydreaming about my Ultimate Concierge and our life together used to feel like a gift. It was sweet. It was playful. It made me smile. But today it hurts, because those daydreams cannot be gentle anymore. They do not comfort me. They remind me of what I have lost. So I do not daydream about the past. I cannot. Not today.

Before the destruction of his brain began, my husband and I had thirty-two years of marriage that felt magical to me. On a personal level, we were each other’s world. A perfect fit. Yin and Yang. People love to say opposites attract. I totally disagree.

I am living proof that shared values, similar tastes and matching rhythm matters. The more aligned you are in what you care about and how you live, the better the chance of building a relationship that feels like home.

Shelly and I liked the same kind of people. We shared the same religion. Our politics were in sync. We loved the same art, home decor, movies, travel, restaurants, and intellectual stimulation. We believed in giving back and giving generously. We read the same novels. We supported the same charities. We did everything together.

And darling, we never argued. Not because we were perfect, but because we were aligned. We talked openly. We shared feelings. We understood each other. Then vascular dementia reared its ugly head and our world collapsed.

The Nightmare and the Love That Remains

The loss of my husband’s ability to converse with me, which I treasured, has been nothing short of a nightmare. And yet, here is what is also true…

• He knows me.
• He tells me he loves me.
• He calls for me.
• He holds my hand.
• He kisses me.

Those are his ways of telling me that although he has forgotten much, he remembers me. And I am still his treasured Valentine. That is a love that breaks your heart and saves you at the same time.

The Turning Point

My life is at a turning point. The loss of my darling Ultimate Concierge will be an unimaginable journey. And though I have a loving, kind, and interesting blended family, close lifelong friendships, wonderful acquaintances, and my pooch, America, I know from experience that I will have to ride my wave alone, with America beside me.

It will be a lonely road even when I am surrounded by people, because my better half will not be by my side. Nevertheless, truth be told, I do daydream about the future. I think it is healthy. My mind is trying to survive something that feels impossible. When I daydream, I can actually feel my nervous system shift. I can feel a small release and it is a rest from constant sadness.

Daydreaming Will Not Fix Everything

Daydreaming won’t fix all our hardships, but it gives us just enough light to stay in the race we call life. And to all of you darlings who are experiencing loss of any kind, I want to offer you this: listen to your daydreams. Take heart in them. They may be the very thing that helps you keep going, one gentle step at a time.

Because daydreams are not fake. They are a form of hope you can hold. And that, darling, is real self care. Amen.