“As other's lives are
often only dreams to us, so also others' deaths.”
Josephine Hart
You came to me last night in a dream. Immobile. Stuck on the
couch wearing a plain blue t-shirt. I cannot remember the color of the pants
now. Khaki I think. How quickly dreams float away. How quickly the thoughts of
our slumber slip from us once we awaken.
You spoke to me as though you were still here. As though
Cancer hadn’t spread through your body and claimed you yet. But it was there.
Like a dark cloud hanging over our joyous parade. Your body so frail and thin. Your
bones were trying to rip through your flesh.
We talked.
What did you say? I cannot remember it now. The brightness
of the daylight robbing me of your sweet words. I wanted you to say that you
would be back. That your death was the dream and this was reality. That there
was still some hope that you would get better. I wanted you to tell me that you
love me. Still. Even after time stopped for you.
The dream switched places now. You sat on a wooden bar
stool, sharing wisdom with a friend. A woman ran off, unable to bear the
thought of you not being here. So broken by the fact that you were going to…..Die.
I tried to comfort her, crouched in a bathroom. Surrounded by pink. She cried
for you, face buried deep within her hands. Sobs forming deep within the pit of
her existence. Moans and sighs escaping through tear stained lips.
It felt too real to not be real. I wanted it to be true too
badly for it to slip away. I explained to everyone that despite the amount of
time you’ve been away from me, from us, it’s hard. It’s still fresh. Like a cut
that just won’t heal. It still stings when I think about you. There are still
no pictures displayed on my wall. I still want to call you and wish you a happy
birthday. I still want to send you father’s day cards. I want you to spin our son
around like an airplane and make silly faces at him when he cries.
I know you want that too.
What were you trying to tell me? Why did you come to me this
night and not any other? Sorry about the sickness. Fearing the end. Telling me
to be strong. Smiling. Living. And dying.
What would it have been like if we would have known? If we
would have been aware that we were watching your soul leave your body? What
would we have done? What would you have said?
Please don’t stay away so long again. Come back to see me
soon. Behind my eyelids and in the recesses of my mind. I’ll be waiting for
you. This time I’ll remember your words. I’ll hold sacred what you said. And
now, since I only get to see you in my dreams, I’ll make sure that I am slow to
wake.
“We cast away priceless
time in dreams, born of imagination, fed upon illusion, and put to death by
reality.” - Judy Garland
