One Voice, In A Dream

(NOTE: Based on time elapsed since the posting of this entry, the BS-o-meter calculates this is 3.618% likely to be something that Ferrett now regrets.)

My Uncle Tommy died over a decade ago.  He was basically my brother; I confided everything in him.  And as I’ve learned with grief, you never really heal, you just reroute around the damage.

Last night, I was dreaming I was a teenager again for some reason, lost on the road in some grand adventure with a bunch of friends, and we had to call home.

I called home, and heard Tommy’s voice.

He said hello.

And that voice was so real, that memory so vivid, I half-woke from the dream, which stopped being about the grand adventure and turned into a meta-question of how could I talk to Tommy again.  Even then I knew it was faked, that Tommy was gone, but my memories had been so achingly vivid that everything in my sleeping brain tried to hear him the way I needed to remember him again.

I was up at 7:00 but I kept pushing my head back into the pillow, desperately clinging to thin dreams in the hopes I could hear Tommy say hello to me again, because I’ve been starving for years of that man and a taste of my Uncle’s casual friendship was enough to awake that painful separation.

I’m sleepy now, and slightly energized.  I feel vaguely blessed, even though I know I merely stumbled across some portion of my brain that knew how to recreate Tommy’s voice within me.

But I’m glad.

Somewhere within me, I still carry my Uncle’s voice.  Maybe it’ll come to me again in a time of need.

I can hope.

 

 

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