Thanks to the wonder that is Tylenol PM, I was able to get my never-ending headache under control and finally fall asleep last night. My rest was deep, mostly dreamless. But sometimes I would dream that I was resting in the shade on cool grass beside a quiet stream. It was so peaceful and quiet. Tranquil. A place that offered calm comfort. It was a place that doesn't even remotely resemble my life these days.
The phone ringing jolted me awake late this morning. My son was still snoozing beside me and, for one crazy moment, I thought that I had a horrible nightmare. I dreamed that my brother died yesterday. But this wasn't just a bad dream.
My only brother did die yesterday. My only brother did die yesterday. He was only 41 and he died yesterday. I don't want to believe it, it's too horrible to believe, but seeing it in print makes it so much more real. And all the crying, hoping, and praying can't bring him back. It hurts so bad that I can't remember what it feels like not to hurt.
I can't remember the last time that I've cried so many tears. It would still hurt if he he been old or sick, but it would have been somewhat expected. I can't wrap my head around a 41-year old man being struck down so young. Certainly not someone as wonderful as my big brother. He was a good man and a great brother. I miss him so much already. I wish I could hear him say, "love ya little sis," just once more.
Why him? Why now? I can ultimately accept that he's gone, but why?