I forgot about my blog. It has been a while since I had been on there. Last entry was in 2013. I had added this from my journal that I wrote at the beginning of 2009, my friend had passed the previous year in April 2008. He was my best friend back in the day, I think of him as my soul mate, my first love. I remember the day I first saw him. Walking out of the morning sun like some kind of god, or monster as he would say *roll my eyes*. I left and lost contact with him. I went in search of him after I first started using the internet. People searches, everything... Little did I know that he was searching for me too.
Well enjoy :)
I dreamt that I went to Alaska, or what I perceived as Alaska. I was standing in a cemetery. There were other people already there standing around a grave. Some of them were men and a couple of women besides me. The men started to dig and when they were done, they had dug up a coffin; I immediately knew whose coffin it belonged to. So I offered to help carry it. Six of us carried it including another woman just to the left of me. We carried it up and over our heads until we were out of the cemetery. Once we were out on this old dirt covered road, we lowered it to about mid-waist. It was then that I noticed the coffin was gone and we were carrying him (Patrick) on a flat bed. He was covered with a sheer white veil. He looked beautiful. I could see the outline of his face; this nose, his lips, and I could see this eyes that were closed forever. I could see his hands placed across his torso as they should be. He was dressed in black.
I looked ahead to see where we were taking him, we were now walking down a street that resembled the little street behind the clinic that ends at Timbee Hall. But I also got this feeling of being inside a gigantic dome. It was like the outside was inside something bigger like the Holt Arena. About half way down this street, a woman came to meet us, she was talking to the men in front but I could hear her. She told them to take him over there and she waved her hand toward a little church. As I stared at her, something told me she was Patrick's mother. They shared the same eyes, eyebrows, and nose. Even with her glasses on, I could see the resemblance. She looked at me like she knew who I was and yet she seemed to not want to see me. She turned away and walked off toward the church.
I stood still as the others continued on, placing his body in front of the church door. But just in front of the church, it was dark, like the day was gone and in this small area it was night. Sunlight shining from the church door was shining down on his body. Someone said they had to leave him here before he can go any further. I just stood there watching, staring at him lying there on the ground. I'm not sure what happened next but a lot of people were showing up. Even my mom, my sister and her little ones showed up.
Everyone was talking, eating and crying. Occasionally I would turn to talk to my mom and then I would go back to staring at Patrick's body. Then all of a sudden, he turned his head toward me and then got up on one elbow staring back at me. I got scared and ran to the bathroom, (this part is weird, bear with me) there were people in the bathroom, a man and a woman both white. I told them to leave, so they got their belongings and left. I paced around in circles in the bathroom. Hoping I didn't have to talk to him. I was too scared to, what was I going to say to him. The bathroom door was left wide open and then I seen him go walking past, like he was waiting for me to come out. Then I noticed some beaded coin purses in the sinks, I scooped up some of them and placed all of them in one sink. A thought occurred to me that someone was supposed to be watching these, so with a growl, I stomped out of the bathroom (see? weird).
I looked around and seen my mom and sister leaving, then I seen his body still lying in front of the church door. I started toward this long table where his mother was sitting and some other man was there, he was standing, leaning against the other side of the table. I was about to sit down when I seen someone walk past a window of the little church. I sat down, I looked over my shoulder and seen this man walking past each of the little windows. He was tall, with long black hair, broad shoulders, he was wearing a blue flannel, boots, and old faded jeans and he was carrying a black hat. He had a little bit of goatee. I heard Patrick's mother talking about how they never got to have a feast for him and that there was a lot of things they hadn't done for him. The man leaning against the table agreed with her. She looked worn out, tired and sad. Her eyes looked like she'd been crying for days on end. I looked to see where that other man had gone, I seen him walk in thru some doors.
When I looked into his face, into his eyes, I realized it was Patrick but older, his wonderful beautiful eyes were a dead give away. He was a walking corpse, I sat looking at him from the corner of my eye, he was trying to talk to me and I tried to ignore him. No one seemed to notice he was there, that he was standing right there. No one in the room could see him except me. He kept trying to get my attention but I kept my eyes on the table and then he threw his hat behind him and then rolled up the sleeves of his left arm and stuck it out in front of me. I heard his voice then saying, look at this. I looked at his pale arms and seen scars of lines going up his arms. With that he got my attention, so I turned to him and pulled up my own sleeves and showed my own little suicide attempt and flexing my fingers, showing him each scar that ran down each of my fingers of my left hand.
I looked up into his face, he stared back at me sorrowfully and then grabbed me by the same hand and pulled me to him. I didn't struggle, even being this close to him knowing he was dead, I didn't pull away. I can see his skin was rotting away. A year, I thought, a year ago he was buried, this must be how he looks now after being buried underground for that long but I still loved him, I still let him put his cold dead arms around me. We stood staring at one another, studying each others face. He smiled a little, then took my left hand and squeezed it tightly to his neck. He ran his fingers along the side of my face. I could feel the roughness of his fingertips. I closed my eyes enjoying every second of it, I was afraid to open my eyes, scared that when I did he would be gone, he must've sensed this because he ran my fingers along his lips and then over his cheek. He cuddled my hand briefly, as if enjoying my touch just as much as I did his.
His skin was rough, cold, hard but it still felt good to be touching him. I didn't care that he was dead or that I was the only one to see him. He smiled even bigger, that big cheesy wonderful smile of his, he pulled my hair from off my shoulder, running his hand thru the length of it and said, "what's this?", I just shrugged and then slid my arms around his neck; he put his arms around my waist, I remembered standing like this with him in gazebo. I looked into his eyes and told him how much I have missed him. He leaned in, leaning his head to mine and said I've missed you too. I put my mouth over his and tried to kissed him, he tried to kiss me back but somewhere in me I knew this moment was over, and like most dreams it was. It turned into something else the moment I closed my eyes and opened them again.
This dream was more real to me than anything that I ever dreamt of. When I woke up, I felt good, alive, almost completely happy that I had seen him this way for the last time and for some reason that song was playing in my head (Without You by Motley Crue). Was he there, was this a message, his farewell. Was that tickling I felt on the side of my head the night before just him slipping into my head? Back in June ('08), after I first moved into this house, I felt someone come into my room, at first I thought that it was my brother because it felt like a mans presence and then he gently sat down behind me, (I felt the bed press down) and then I felt him hug me. Arms literally wrapping around me and squeezing. It wasn't a menacing feeling but a feeling like he was happy to see me. I wondered if this had been him and not my brother. And this all before I found out he was dead. If it had been him, I'm glad he visited me, I'm glad because it lets me know that he never forgot me just like I never forgot him.
It was like this one dream, this one little piece after a night of restlessness, that all my questions and all my doubts were answered. But still I wondered if he felt the same as I have over the years, lost, alone, feeling as though there was a piece of my life, a piece of my soul was missing. Maybe this was a way for him to let me know that he really is on the other side, and that wishful thinking is a waste of time, a waste of energy. I wonder if he's still here, lingering about in my house.