People say the dead are with you all the time. I don't believe them at all. When you are gone, you become the trees and the sky and the cicada song. You are the feathers flapping in black cockatoos in the stunted banksia. You are the space above a black house of Nordic design on a hillside and you are the sun glinting on its mirrored glass. You are cedar wood shavings and stolen oranges. But you are not really here. I don't let myself think otherwise. There's nought to be gained from thinking too hard.
Yet the other night you found a way. I was incredulous, awestruck, joyful. I reminded you you were dead, but you said don't worry about that. You were waxing lyrical about some drawers you wanted to have built. It'll be bloody fantastic , you said, and proceeded to draw me a diagram. Had they kicked you out from wherever you went, I wondered, because you were too alive? I begun to smile. I reached for your shoulder. I could see your small gold tooth. Your hair was grey but your body was still strong. I listened for a long time to you talking about bloody drawers. God, you were magnificently animated. I had forgotten how all those pieces of you assembled into the whole of you.
There was another time too. You were tugging on your wetsuit, easily. Your movements were full of grace, and none of the painful efforts of your last years. Your hair was black as was your beard. Perhaps you even had sideburns. You turned around and I zipped up your wetsuit in the way I had done for since childhood. I don't have to worry about sharks anymore, you said, and you kind of dived down into the deep blue. Bubbles flew upward toward the light.
No, the dead aren't with us at all. They have become rivers and oceans and the golden seaweed on the shore as the sun hangs heavy in the sky.
The dead don't come back.
But sometimes they do.
With Love,
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All pictures my own.
The stars of this Universe gave us atoms for our bodies. And when the body disintegrates into atoms, only one thing will remain - immortal energy. For it is eternal and not material.
That's a lovely sentiment and one I can live with.
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Just like you. The dead are no more with us. They returned back to dust and stopped to exist .
Except in us.
The living right?
Such a wonderful nice post. It reminds me of a dream one would have.
I sometimes feel that we might live on through nature and the energy we release.
I like to think so. Both of these were dreams, but they felt so real, as if he was alive, u had to write it like this!
I thought it might have been a dream the way it was written. They reminded me of some of the dreams I have sometimes of my mother and my brother.
Have they passed? I'm sorry.
Damn, with the tears. This was such, such a beautiful read.
I don't know, aren't they with you? I think they become the trees and the ocean, too, but that is with you, and maybe in a sense they're there, only a bit since they now have to be in so many places at once. But maybe little bits are still there with you?
I don't know. There's really no way to say it more beautiful or raw than how you already said it here, so thank you for that real, raw beauty <3 I'm glad he came back for a little while. <3
Thankyou. I feel his absence more than anything - it's such a raw pain I try not to let take over. Even if I start to cry I check myself as there's no point to it, you know? And don't tell me I SHOULD cry or it's helpful as I really don't feel it is. But in those dreams, he was as close to me as I've felt in ages. It was such a a beautiful, happy thing! And as I wrote, I saw him properly, instead of bits and pieces in my memory. It's like my mind can't settle on which version of him it wants or needs to remember. It's sooo frustrating, like trying to make a castle of water. So I'm really grateful to my dream life in gifting me these precious moments that feel so very, very real. Like a time machine, in all directions. Thankyou x
Thank fuck for dreams.
Nah, I wasn't going to. I don't know that it's good or helpful to cry. I think for some people, it might be, but it's also a slippery slope that can keep you mired in sorrow and grief for longer than you need to be (obviously, there's always a sense of grief, but I do think crying can slow down the process of making sense of life after loss).
I agree. I don't like to wallow. People tell you it's okay to cry etc and it's healthy but I'm not sure that's true or good for me. It's more of a slippery slope, and grief should be just one aspect of my life not all of it.
I dreamt of my mum just this sleep, She was in the same condition as not long after she had her stroke and could move around by herself albeit a little slow. it was nice to be wake up to that seeing her again
Oh that's lovely. I hope you have more dreams like that, and me too. They are so nice to wake up to aren't they?
My husband was decidedly here the first year or 2. Too may odd things kept happening. Not so much any more, for quite a while... But I think he's still around to a degree...
I didn't dream of him at all the first couple years, not once. It wasn't until last year I started to dream about him.
It took ages to dream about Dad. I wish I had more. I asked my sister to share when she dreamt about him as strangely that helps too. I wonder if there's a way to induce dreams. Was it a significant dream or just a day to day thing?
Day to Dayi think. I don’t tend to remember dreams…
I totally agree, the dead don't come back but sometimes they do. This reminds me of my grandma... Though she's gone but sometimes I feel like she's just right beside me watching. Thank you for sharing such a wonderful story @riverflows. I enjoyed it!
You're welcome. I think we long for them so much that they can feel very present. ❤️
A moving reflection. My dad passed away 25 years ago, and I only dreamed of him twice over the years. We hardly connected when he was alive because he was often away for work, and I left home for boarding school when I was 13. My sister was closer to him.
I wonder if she dreams of him more. I'm worried I won't dream of him often. I'm.sorry you didn't get more time with him.
I was a typical 80s latchkey child, left on my own to wander the streets and only home at dusk. Or read books voraciously and was highly independent from a young age. My siblings and I may have the same parents, but our experiences with them were vastly different.