In Dreams

I slept poorly last night, possibly a result of too much drinking and fried food, which has been a regular sleep-disrupting pattern of mine of late. I also had a horrendous headache, which may or may not have been drinking induced, but it kept me weaving in and out of consciousness through the sleeping hours and as a result, I woke after every snippet of a dream allowing myself to remember last nights dreams much more vividly than a typical seemingly dreamless slumber.

I dreamt about Samuel in a new way last night, and there was something so prophetic about the dream, it is hard to remind myself that dreams are a very rational, explainable set of images that randomly course through my living brain as a result of my subconscious. What mean is: does it always HAVE to be “just a dream?” Normally, I dream that Sam has come back, that he looks exactly as he did when he passed away, and that we all know he hasn’t come to stay- that he is about to have a brain hemorrhage again. Possibly the way anyone who has been through something traumatic dreams constantly of the trauma, I dream that I am constantly on the verge of re losing my precious brother.

In this dream there was Samuel not Sam- maybe a 6 or 7-year-old boy with the blondest of blond bed head, a little yellow pajama outfit, and sleep and pillow marks written all over his sweet young face. He was a beautiful, golden boy, and nothing could have made my heart swell more than to see him, except that he was sick. His body looked weak.

Beneath his left eye were the red dots that he came out of the hospital with when he had his first brain hemorrhage, and his eyes were tired and heavy. Sam was always the one that we worried about the most: the most close calls, the most emergencies, and here he was, visibly sick. At the same time that my heart was singing to see him there, it also hung heavy with dread.

My baby brother.

Unable to understand why he came to me, to us, at this age, and unable to know how long I had with his sick body, I threw myself into the moment, into the chance to hold him and love him as hard as I could make my body love; I embraced him, pulled him into my arms and held as if there had always been this many years between us, as it appeared there was now, and as if this was how I had always held my baby brother.

I just held my brother.

This child version of his body rested so peacefully into me, like the only thing he could have come back for was to lie in my arms. In his restful state he looked serene and I smelled his young hair and touched delicate, yet already long and slim fingers. As I held him I knew that there was no way he could or would stay, and I sensed, from the initial knowing look and tiny smirk that he gave me, that Sam not only knew he couldn’t stay, but knew some bigger secret. I could feel his frail body getting weaker and sicker by the minute, even in the peace and comfort of my embrace. Before I knew it, I was holding Samuel, a baby, in my arms, and Samuel the little boy was gone. As a dawning of understanding began to take hold of me in my dream, I rushed to talk to him, to hear him talk back to me, before he couldn’t anymore.

“Samuel I love you. I understand that you will always be near me, I know that you are always here. Please brother, talk to me when you are there, because I miss you so much every minute of every day….Tell me how to keep you close to me…..”

No longer a developed enough body to speak, I was still able to feel and understand his messages to me…..He was fine. Life is circular. He had to come back like this, but he couldn’t come back for good. Yes, sometimes it was scary for him too, but really, he was close by and good. Everything around him was good. He didn’t know what happened next anymore than the rest of us, but he was sure it was working out…..He had faith….

Most of his words and love I could feel rushing through me, messages of comfort, strength and love that I was awed to receive from my little brother, who in the end became my teacher.

As my brother aged further in reverse I began crying, and as tears fell from my face to my hands, the baby was gone and all that was left were stars, the earliest glimmers in a parent’s heart for a child they would one day love: Samuel. The tiny stars danced on my palms, some were bright with light, some like humble, strong little starfish, and I couldn’t tell whether their universal origins were from the sky or the sea- maybe both.

I held my brother and his most beautiful spirit in my hands.

“I understand Sam!” I sobbed to him, resisting the urge to hold onto him harder. “It is circular. No beginning or end. You are always here, always you. Like seasons. Like the rotation of the globe, always renewing……I don’t know if I will see you again in the seasons of this world starting over, or if it will be when I go to where you are… But Samuel, I will know you. I will know you the moment I see you again, because I know you now in my hands…You are my brother, there could never be a place or time in this universe where I will not know you immediately. You can go now brother, because I will know you again when I see you.”

Sam’s words. Not mine. I was able to understand them because the patient and generous spirit that I held let me. He could leave me now and I could let him, because I would and will know him when I meet him again, and even now, he’s just not-so-far-away.

They tease me now, telling me it was only a dream. But does it matter whether it was a dream or reality, if the dream made known to me the truth? ----Dostoevsky