The amount of time that I’ve spent over the years either with bad dreams, nightmares, or to go one worse night terrors seems somewhat mind-blowing. The fear, the upset or just mild panic who can tell what it is but it’s there, it’s constant and I hate it.

The other night I woke up, heart pounding, the usual anxiety, and having to apologise to the person next to me, because lately I’ve had some terrible dreams, terror dreams if you will and they are all centred around my uncle.
Each one is different but the theme is more or less the same. One time I assume we had had an argument but he flew some sort of curse at me and I went into the water. I continued down and down into the water. It was like dreaming of my worst fear. It was like I was in suspended animation.

Others I have bring me to tears. Mostly because I try and reach out to him and yet however much I lean and reach I can’t grab hold of him. That happens with other people too. My father mostly.

Then the other night I had a final dream that was just a man that looked like him but wasn’t. I want to say more that it was Alan Rickman’s version of my uncle. He was a muggle but I knew him, just as much as he knew me. And we spoke as we had in life. The terror is that, when I wake they cannot be seen. The joy is that I remember them all, that I knew them all.