remembrance

In the small, dim hours of early morning today, I dreamed about an old friend who took his own life a year and a half ago.

I was at a party, a crazy Goth/Victorian-inspired masquerade party that took up a warehouse and the surrounding grounds. I was there with my real-life partner-in-crime. But then two other women approached and started shouting at him about cheating on them. And then all of a sudden Sam was there. He took me by the hand and led me away from the argument, out of the party. We got in his car and drove and drove, for what felt like hours, talking and deciding what to do. We eventually stopped at a hotel for the night, at which point I realized I'd left my tote bag at the party. Sam assured me it would be there the next day when we returned for it. He got us a room. In the stairs he handed me a baggie of pills, four different kinds, and said, "Please don't let me be responsible for these." At some point I wandered out onto the giant patio in the middle of the night. There was a group of people out there who said they were vampires and started threatening me, and again, Sam just appeared and took me away from the uncomfortable scene.

And then I woke up.

Sam in the dream was always there for me, just like he and I were always there for each other in real life, when we were close. He would come over and cry on my shoulder when he had an abusive encounter with his ex. I would go to him when I was stressed, when I was uncomfortable with what was going on with whatever relationship I was in. We slept together when we were single and would go out to brunch the next morning, always simply good friends regardless of what had transpired the night before was just sleep or something more. We were important to each other.

At some point, we started depending on other people more and each other less. We grew apart, like people do. I hadn't spoken to him in several years before he decided he was finished being on this earthly plane. I blogged about finding out about his passing, in March of last year. But that dream this morning hit me like a punch in the gut. I woke up and remembered he was gone and I ached to talk to him one more time. In the dream, when he took my hand, his palm was calloused just like they were when he was here. It's rare for me to remember physical sensation in my dreams, but I remember that. And that physical detail recalled the hurt of him being gone just as much as him being there for me did.

I don't know what else to say about this. I don't think any of us ever truly reconcile ourselves to the idea that someone we love decided to take themselves out of this life. I miss him, and I love him as a good friend still, and I wish I could talk to him again.