I had a dream last night that Steve lived in Jacksonville but we never saw him because he had a new group of friends, with whom we didn’t mesh well. In the dream I felt guilty and a little mad, because he was right there in the next town and we didn’t get together and I missed him so much. Then he died and I REALLY felt like shit. I was trying to help some woman I didn’t know put together a tribute to Steve and there was all this talk about his work with sick kids and all this other shit I had no idea about, and all I could feel is ashamed that he lived right here so close to us and we didn’t do more to see him. I just kept thinking to myself in the dream “this can’t be happening, I have to talk to him again”

And then I woke up, and relief washed over me when it occurred to me that he wasn’t dead and I could see him after all.

And then it hit me all over again.

I remember that this happened when Silas died, and again when Bob died. I would dream that they were alive and then wake up to remember that they weren’t; or that there was something I needed to say to them or do with them and I would be torn up with anguish in the dream, only to feel a wave of relief when I awoke (oh! it was a dream, he’s not dead!), followed quickly by the crushing sadness and helplessness that comes with grief.

I hate this part. I hate the part where my unconscious/subconscious mind tries to make sense of an emotional loss. I hate the dreams, although I have at times begged the universe (begged my mind, really) to give me just a few minutes with my dead friends in my sleep.

It’s the waking up that sucks.