Dreams can be a cruel and uncontrollable bully that sneak up on you when you are getting control and tear it from your hands. Last night, he was alive. Revived a month after death. I embraced him like I have never embraced a person before. My friend was back. He was acting erratically, but he was back. I told him, he had no idea what he put me through, but I was so glad to see him again. Later in the dream, he then told me he was going to go back on Vicodin in a couple of days as if he was going to do it all again. A guy in the back of the room of the bizarre party we were at screamed, "I can help you get those." I said profane things and chased him down. The weird thing is, I have never once been able to run or fight in a dream. I am either running through pudding, or I am punching in slow motion. This time I caught him and beat him to death. I stood up and turned and Will was gone. I opened my eyes to the real world and the sun beaming through the curtains and I sunk. I had him back and it was so real, then he was gone again.
Just trying to make it through today. Erik and I went through old videos last night to put together for Will's family to watch tonight. I was looking for this series of videos he did for my youth group of Will playing this hysterical character. Could not find even one of them. This crushes me, because if they were ever aired on TV, they would be an instant and raging success because Will was so funny. So mad at myself for not taking better care of them. Hindsight right?
On an unrelated note: What does an atheist funeral look like? What semblance of comfort can a speaker there give? "Your father or grandmother or son, is now in the ground, will smell really bad, and rot away into dust, never to think another thought again." "Thank you all for coming, good talk folks."
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