9 January 2022
This is already not going well: my intention to revisit and refresh my old blog turned into unintentionally losing the time & date stamp for every entry. I guess that's what happens when I make decisions without fully understanding the consequences of my actions. (Who knew that turning a published post back into a draft would remove the publish date altogether?)
What this does highlight, though, is my fear of losing memories and forgetting the past. The content of those previous posts is still there and (without going back and reading every post) I'm sure there are date-signaling events referred to throughout. I'm telling myself that "everything is going to be fine" and, considering that I had completely forgotten about most of my Blogger posts' existence anyway, I'm sure I'll get over it.
Cue Momentary Lapse of Reason.
What I really came here to do was to try sorting through my feelings about the dream I had last night.
If I were religious — if I believed in the afterlife — I might believe I had been visited by a ghost. I'm not, however, and I don't. What I do believe is that these dreams are my mind's way of working through thoughts and feelings that maybe I haven't fully come to terms with yet, or that I don't quite understand. Maybe I'm unconsciously seeking closure.
The dream is a recurring one; not in all of the specifics, but in the general format. It always starts as a large gathering with family and friends, and it always unexpectedly turns into a welcome party for Avery, who has been gone a while; and by "gone," I mean dead. It's never a big shock for anyone but me, and I somehow convince myself that it all makes sense: it's entirely believable that Avery would fake his own death and then come back years later with another name and some story about what he's been up to, acting like it's no big deal. Once I'm thoroughly convinced that it's real and I feel the need to get more information out of him — Where the hell have you been? Why would you do this to me? Why did it take so long for you to come back? — it's then that I wake up.
Those first few waking minutes are awful; even 5 1/2 years later, every time it feels like I'm going through his death all over again.
So do I need closure? I've seen all of the police reports, the coroner's report, and a cutting of his tattooed flesh framed on the wall of his father's apartment ("WHITE TRASH"). I attended the funeral and mourned for years. If it's closure that I'm seeking, I don't think it's the kind I'll ever be able to get.
I know that he's dead. I also know that I'll never be able to ask him those questions — the ones I never get a chance to ask in those last few moments of my dreams.
