Until We Meet Again

Why does the mind often bring up things which we do not particularly want to think about?  For instance, why must I put up with having a dream about my mother in which she is chasing me around trying to get me to give her a hug.  In the dream, I keep telling her, "No, it's too late now.", but she persists.  She persists until I wake myself up, obsessively replaying the dream in my mind trying to make sense of it.  After all, she is the one who has caused this rift and I am the one who must live within the ruins of the aftermath.  Yet if I were approached in a loving way, by any one of my now estranged extended family members, my heart would surely open up and I would forgive.  I would forgive because that is what I do.  I would forgive because I am not the one who wanted any of this strife to begin with.  I would forgive because this is so stupid.  I would forgive because I love.
Just in case you have not figured it out by now the angelic little face in these photos is my little brother.  When he passed away suddenly, eleven weeks ago, his death threw our little family into an immediate cyclone.  It has not gotten any better, which is something that I am very, very sorry to say.  I come from a family of right-fighters.  They enjoy the battle, even when there should not be one.  I hate to admit that as much as I loved my brother, he was of the same mold.  Probably the major reason he became an attorney.  I am the aberration.  I have always been the one who seeks peace.  There is something in my soul which seeks out gentleness.  I guess there has to be a "black sheep" in every family.
Today was a pretty bad day for me on the grief front.  And the more I think about it, the more I realize that it directly relates to the dream which haunted me in my sleep.  I don't think we realize how much dreams can affect how our days go, but there is something about the good old subconscious.  Whether we realize it or not, our dreams can affect our waking hours in ways that we do not even fully recognize.
I miss my brother.  My heart is broken in places which will most likely never mend.  We were supposed to grow old together, laughing and picking on each other and sharing little secrets which only people who have grown up together would understand.  He was not supposed to leave me at the young age of 41.  41, a number that will stick inside of my brain for the rest of my life.

Some days are better than others.  A few have been okay but many are still unbearably painful.  I have a great life.  A storybook life with an incredible husband and beautiful daughters.  A unique and supportive family which we worked very hard to create.  But I am sad, and I suspect that I will feel sad underneath all of the happy, for a very long time to come.  Life is like that, isn't it?

I am praying for better dreams tonight.  Dreams in which my brother is alive and whole.  Dreams in which he does not have to return to wherever he is, right now, and say good-bye to me once again...