Last night I dreamed about Molly.
I've been both hoping and fearing a dream about her. As a "graduate" of Jungian analysis, I spent many years writing down my dreams and contemplating them. They mean things to me.
In the dream, I found Molly inside the house across the street. It's a lovely house, a gracious house, and she seemed perfectly at home, curled in a pretty chair. She looked beautiful and did not seem to be in pain. I followed her to the front door, where she waited to greet other visitors. I thanked my neighbor for taking such good care of her. He spread his hands as if to say it was nothing (the real neighbor is a man of few words), then said, "I'm glad to."
I knew I had to leave her there.
She had crossed over, you see, to the other side.
When I woke and remembered the dream I felt relief and sadness and joy.