I opened my eyes. Eight o'clock! Where was Jim with my morning cup of coffee? He never let me sleep this late, and since I'd fallen from his truck four days ago, he was especially solicitous, wanting to know how I was feeling, if I'd slept well, was I in pain.
I listened. No noises from downstairs. I couldn't wait in bed; I needed to move my body, to go to the bathroom. Slowly and painfully, I got out of bed. From the top of the stairs, I could tell it was too dark, so I carefully, one step at a time, descended.
Something was wrong, really wrong.
I turned on the light, saw Jim sitting on the sofa. He looked at me and said, "Mike and I are in trouble." I asked what had happened, and he said, "This train has drugs on it."
"What train, honey?"
"This train Mike and I are on, coming back from Mexico. There are drugs on it, and we're going to be arrested."
"Jim," I said, "you're having a dream. You're here, at home, with me. Wake up, honey."
"No," he said, showing a flash of anger. "I know where I am. I'm on a train with Mike. We're in Mexico and we're in trouble."
I called 911. "There's something wrong with my husband. He's not making sense, he's not waking up. Please help me!"
And my life, my world, changed forever. Three years ago today.