Dreaming. Mourning.I had a dream last night about Jason, my stepbrother. I usually get bored when people tell me about their dreams, so I apologize in advance for talking about mine here, but I rarely remember my dreams, and this was one of the first ones I've been able to remember vividly in quite a while.
In the dream, I woke up one morning with the distinct understanding that Jason was still alive but that he was going to die that morning. I remember going to his room (which oddly was not the room we used to share as kids but was the same house) to see if he was awake. I expected him to be laying in bed, mourning the fact that he was going to die in just a few hours.
To my surprise, he was up and was getting ready for the day. He said he wasn't the type of person to worry about whether or not he was going to die. I remember admiring how brave he seemed when he said that. And just like nothing was going on, we went downstairs and hung out with the family and laughed and told stories like we usually do when we get together.
Then I woke up.
On my drive to work that dream is all I could think about. Now that I'm writing this out, I feel like the dream should have given me some sort of peace, but I was sad instead. It reminded me how much I miss him.
I've mentioned to J a couple of times that I felt like I hadn't really grieved as much as I thought I would have or should have. This makes 2 rough patches in 2 weeks. I guess the grieving process takes a little longer and works a little differently than I thought it would. I think this dream is really the first time I've actually forced myself to realize that I wouldn't be seeing him anymore. How I've gone two months without figuring that out I don't know.