Last night I dreamt I was carrying around my sister’s corpse.
I carried her through dilapidated hallways, strip malls and living spaces, sometimes as the size she was, and other times in a shoebox that my subconscious constructed for convenience. I carried her through situations that held no potential (my circumstance) and through burdensome spaces that have no end (my life).
The stench of death visceral, sickening. The decomposition advanced and cumbersome. The desperation to have my sister buried properly lingered, but there was no real place for her in the ground.
Grief is like this. It’s something you carry around every day. It has a weight, and a stench. The weight of loss, which sits like a throbbing open sore wound, is never lessened. You just get used to bearing it, or you don’t.
I’m not God’s strongest soldier, as it turns out.
My sister taught me how to use chop sticks. She taught me how to take care of animals, and she gave me The Killers’ first album Hot Fuss for Christmas, which turned out to be my favorite band.
She was the most excited to meet me when I was born, as she finally had a sister after living with two brothers. She made me feel like I was wanted, and she protected me from some of the abuse she endured.
I wish I had something to say that would round out the sharp edges of the reality of grief and loss, but I don’t. The harsh truth is that this place is a soul killer. I’ve seen it time and time again, and on so many different levels. The marketplace planet has a knack for taking the people who are most aligned with what we claim is important, and chipping away at them until there’s nothing left. Only the asleep, the morally crooked, and the blissfully ignorant thrive here, those who adapt well to the sickness.
This place runs on fumes from heaven.
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On Love
One day I looked directly right at God, the Universe, whatever you want to call it, and it said, “You don’t have to be happy to fulfill your purpose here.”
Having just lost my baby brother, I agree with all of this. This isn't what my soul signed up for.
I’m sorry for your loss. This dream is powerful and surely stirred emotions in you and us readers. There’s so much symbolism in it too. You carry her now, you pay tribute and remember her for being your champion. The connection is there between the two of you. Thank you for sharing.