I had a nightmare.  My children and I were in his house, waiting for him or something.  The house was very exaggeratedly spacious, with shiny floors, echoing vastness.  The boys were creating minor havocs and I wandered along behind them cleaning up whatever had been disturbed.  But all the while my breathing got more labored and rapid.  A big painful weight settled into my chest and began to crush it.  The incredible wrongness of the entire chain of events was assailing me, and the enveloping energy of her, the very herness that was saturated into the environment even in her absence oppressed me, assaulted me, and my grief was sharp and painful and inescapable.  I felt that these energies and emotions were crushing me to a dust, and it got harder to move after my boys, and to keep my composure and not scream and run.  Voices, my voices, in my head would not shut up about how he gave up without even an attempt to make things work, about solutions being findable if you look for them, being possible if you bring them into being.  I felt harassed by his faithlessness and failure, and the pervasiveness of her hostile victory.  I wanted to be released from here, I wanted to go, and I needed to tell him that I cannot do this again. I could not be here again, and that it would probably be some time before I could look at him again.
    And when I awoke, that crushing pain in my chest was still there.  It is still there.
    The wind outside, the whole time, has been so strong that it seemed likely to tear the house apart, or at least to rip the awnings and the porch chandelier and the windsock pole right off the structure.  It's a fearsome and disastrous wind, although the sun is warm and bright today.
    I'm feeling queasy too.