I woke up this morning from a very realistic, very disturbing dream. I dreamt that I was at a conference with coworkers somewhere in the north Georgia mountains. In my dream, I was told that my brother had been found dead. He had killed himself. His body was up on a steep hillside, sitting on a bench where he’d shot himself in the head. I remember trying to climb that mountain but was unable to reach the top before my parents arrived by car. They drove up on a road that ran behind that bench. It was like some sort of overlook on that mountainside.
Now, I haven’t seen or talked to my brother since the late 1990s. He made a decision back then to ostracize the family and has been an non-entity to me for all this time. I miss the brother he used to be – the creative, intelligent best friend that he was all those years ago. What I don’t miss is the strange, aggressive, and secretive person he became prior to his decision to leave the family.
My dreams tend to come true, especially death dreams, and this frightens me. Every single death I’ve ever dreamed over the years has come to pass shortly after the dream has been dreamed. I dare not share this with my mother for fear of her getting worried again over him. It’s bad enough she misses her only son. My brother disowned my parents the day he walked out of our lives. Everyday since then, my mother has tried her best to reach out to him, only to be shot down by his arrogance.
Maybe this dream was only a reminder to me that he is out there, somewhere, and that I will never see him again. This comforts me. Maybe he will pass away. I can’t do anything about it one way or another, for in the end we all must die.
I only wish that wherever he is and whatever he’s doing, that he’s happy. That’s all I wish for everyone.