Enter Sandman

It’s nice when I have a good dream and I wake up and remember it. Even if just for a few seconds before I move around or open my eyes. I think it’s shitty that we tend to remember bad dreams or nightmares more readily than the good dreams. I still remember dreams I had when I was a kid because they scared the crap out of me, but I had a fun dream last night about exploring around somewhere with my friends and I can really only remember the way it felt and some really faint snapshots. The only other thing I can remember, which I’m grateful for, is that my oldest brother was there too.

He died a few years ago and occasionally I’ll see him in my dreams and that makes me happy. A lot of times I know it’s him even though whoever it might be doesn’t look anything like him, or it might be a girl or an animal or whatever. It’s the feeling I get; I just know it’s him. I don’t know if I want to get into a big philosophical or theological discussion, but I think if people live on in the memories of their friends and family, they may not live forever, but they live a lot longer. At the end of the day, we’re all just a blip on the radar in time and become memories ourselves, but we lived. We were here and we made our mark on the world and on other people, potentially even on the stars. I miss my brother whenever I think about him, and if I think about it for too long it makes me sad, because I’ll never see him in the daytime again. I won’t get any texts on my birthday or the holidays and I won’t get to send any his way. But if I think about it for just the right amount of time, I remember that he was a great brother. He always took time to spend time with me, even though I was five years younger than him. He was the one that got me into rock music…and was then the one who confounded me when he started listening to Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg (Lion, whatever). He let me tag along when he worked on his car, and though I’m sure it cramped his style, I don’t ever remember feeling like he resented me being around. He never went searching for praise or attention, and definitely only spoke if he had something to add to the conversation; he seemed just as happy to sit back and listen. He was kind and generous and a great example of the kind of person I’d like to become.

It does suck that he died so young, and it sucks that we didn’t talk more before he passed, but I think it’s awesome that we can occasionally hang out in my dreams and go explore new places and times and we can talk about whatever we want and be whomever we want. I miss my brother, but I won’t ever forget him. And I suppose, in that way, for me at least, he isn't gone, he just isn't 'here' anymore.