Dreaming of the Dead

This morning I read this beautiful post, (please read it...it is wonderfully touching) and I was struck with a memory.

The writer above had a dream about a loved one who had died. She wondered at the time, and in her post, if the dead could visit us in our sleep. She was told they couldn't, but doesn't believe that is true. Neither do I.

In March of 1993, a friend of mine committed suicide. I had once been very close to him, seeing him every day, and spending huge amounts of my free time with him. But as life took us down our variant and divergent paths...I left for college, he stayed...we inevitably drifted into separateness. Of course that never diminished my feeling for, or memories of him.

I remember clearly. My mom called me at work, and asked if I was sitting down. She gave me the news that the night before, distraught over a failed relationship, and God knows what else, he shot himself in the head in his car, in the driveway of his former girlfriend's home.

This was not my first experience with death, or even suicide, as another high school classmate of mine had taken his own life at the age of fifteen. But I had known that individual only peripherally. In other words, I hadn't really known him. Not like this friend, with whom I had shared so many hours, and stories, and experiences, and memories. Not like this friend whom I had loved. So while this was not my first experience with this terrible thing, it felt like it was. I had no earthly idea how to understand or accept what had happened.

For days I walked around in a fog of confusion. After the funeral, I resumed my "normal" life, only to find that what had been normal, would never be quite the same again. Each new loss is a pain you carry with you, and while you learn to laugh again, the pain is always there somewhere...a part of you now. And this one was especially sharp...one of the "special gifts" of a suicide related death.

When someone elderly dies, you can be grateful for the long life they have had, and the accomplishments they have made. While the loss is still difficult, there is understanding and acceptance. Often, when they have been ill, there is even relief that their suffering has ended, and you can turn your memory back to a time when they were healthy and vital. When a young person dies, it is difficult to feel any gratitude.

Especially when it was was a perfectly healthy person who selfishly and deliberately took his own life.

Another "special gift" of the suicide related death...anger. And guilt. And anger again. Of course a person may experience some of this with any death, but not to the same degree.

There is not a more terrible thing you can do to the people who love you, than take your own life. The anger that I felt for my once dear friend during the days after his death, as I watched his parents suffer horribly, was surprising to me. I hadn't known to expect it.

Then I felt the guilt kick in. He was obviously in pain. He wasn't thinking clearly. It wasn't his fault.

And then the anger was back. If it wasn't his fault, then whose was it? Not the ex-girlfriend. Granted, I was not her biggest fan, but she was unhappy in their relationship, and she should have been allowed to end it...without that consequence. No one deserves that. The punishment simply did not fit the crime.

And then the guilt again. If I had only been a better friend, stayed in touch like I should have, I could have made him see that his pain was temporary. I could have helped him. His other friends could have helped him. His parents could have helped him.

And then the anger once more. Why didn't he let someone help him? Why?

The part that makes you most angry...you will never know the answer to that single, solitary and oh, so important question. WHY? The only person with the answer, took it with them. And that is the most selfish thing of all...leaving everyone to wonder why.

So I wrestled with this roller coaster of emotions for a few months. I made a few visits to a therapist. I talked with others who knew him, and were experiencing similar things. Nothing really helped.

Then one night, I had a dream. After his funeral, a bunch of his friends had gone out to dinner together. It was far from a celebration of his life, more just an unwillingness to be alone with our thoughts and fears and feelings. But in the dream, we were back at that dinner, and this time, it was more celebratory. This time our friend was there with us. We shared memories and told stories, as it had once been in life. We laughed and drank and enjoyed our time together. There was no saddness...maybe just a bit of melencholy.

Then, at the end of the dinner, my friend, who was sitting next to me, touched my arm. I could actually feel the pressure and warmth of his hand. He looked me in the eye, smiled and said, "I have to go."

"Wait!" I said, and tired to pull him back. "Stay. We're not finished here."

"I am finished, and I have to go," he insisted.

"But, why?" I asked the question I had longed to ask.

He never answered it. He just gave me his familiar smile and said, "I'm going to be alright. This is the way it is supposed to be." And he left.

I woke up in tears, but feeling more at peace than I had since my phone rang that fateful March day. I know he never told me why, but he told me something. It was as if he knew how much I was struggling, and he found a way to come back and tell me to let it go...to let him go.

This is the way it was supposed to be. He was going to be alright.

I have believed that every second of every day since the dream. This is the way it was supposed to be. He was going to be alright. The pain, anger and guilt have diminished to only the residual pieces, that will remain a part of who I am until I, too, cease to be. I can certainly touch them, on occasions such as this, but they no longer rule my life.

While I accept the possibility that this was simply my subconscious working things out, I have never stopped believing that he really did visit me, to bring me peace. I could never bring myself to share this story with his parents. I only hope he visited them as well.

I have since known two people who have taken their own lives...one was my friend's brother, whom I had known since he was a toddler, and another was a co-worker. On both occasions, I reminded myself of what my dear friend told me in the dream.

Even though it makes no sense, and I will never understand why, this is the way it was supposed to be. They were going to be alright. I must believe it's true.