Now I’m Spooked and Sad

by irenedavid

Last night, I had a dream about a friend of mine that committed suicide a few months before he turned 21.  I never get to see his face when I dream about him, and the dreams are rare.  This morning, I looked at the date on my computer and realized May 14 was the date that they believe he died…35 years ago.

I haven’t shed any tears today about him; it’s the first time in about 25 years that I haven’t.  The older I got, the more I mourned his death.  In 2010, I wrote two novels based on my friendship with him and his death.

I don’t know why the tears haven’t come today.  Maybe it’s because I’ve cried so many tears for other reasons that a 35 year old death is not as painful as it used to be, especially with all that’s happened to my personal life in the last 11 months.

I guess my subconscious remembered the date of his death and that’s why I dreamt of him last night.

He would have been a great dad and granddad.  He was a precious friend.