I had a dream about my oldest brother, Tyler, last night. He was older, almost the age he would be today had he not died. He had hair. He was so handsome. He looked like he never had cancer at all. Except in my dream, he did have cancer. He knew he was dying and I knew he was dying, so every chance I got, I would take pictures of him. In the pictures he was crying, not bawling, but just a silent tear rolling down his cheek.
I miss him. I have a love/hate relationship with dreams like this. I love them because it's like another connection with him, it's like I get to see him even though I know it's not really him and who knows if that is, in fact, what he would have looked like. I hate them because I wake up crying. I hate them because I know it'll be awhile before I see him again.
I am grateful for eternal families.
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