Grieving

Dreams will not let me sleep tonight...
It has been eight years since my brother died.
The death of my father-in-law has brought some of that more distant loss to the surface... to mix with new loss.
I miss my brother's voice. I miss his warmth. I miss his hugs. I don't ever want those dreams I have, where I see him, to end.
I don't know what to do with his comic book collection. (Funny... but this has been an unresolved issue for way too long.)
Anyway, here is tonight's dream...

It's time to move. This isn't a change of domiciles in the manner that I am accustomed to. This is an abrupt, life preserving and strategic move... over the golden bridge.

Running full speed. Carrying nothing. There is danger on my heels. I know this place--know its contours and rhythm. It is much greener now than I remembered. My family will come later... after the area is secured and there may be a safe passage. Out of breath I turn the final corner and there is my brother. Bow in hand, he aims back toward the path I have just run. (I think: Don't shoot, my girls are back there! Then I realize that they are out of range anyway.) Practice points. Always practice points... signs of immaturity (I think) and then he lets the arrow fly.

The snake doesn't move. It was already dead and this shot is the fifth arrow to pierce that thin line in the grass. My brother has become a marksman, better than any I have ever seen. Practice points... but I can see he has put them to good use as I look back down the path.

I enter the house. It is in bad shape, neglected for too long. The floor has gaps that let in the cold. I bend down to survey the scene. Rats. I hate rats... and in an energized fury... the rat killing begins. I pick up a board and those maggot infested vermin and their filthy friends fly at the bite of my swing. The coast is clear (my yard is in order) and I begin preparing the new homestead. Where is my bro... Awake.