It hits home

Finally, after almost seven months, I feel as if I can write. Thus far I've been observing from afar - not wanting Josh's death to be real, but knowing full well that it is. Football season finished up, baseball season started, and no Josh was there for me to talk sports with. No Josh was there for me to pester to come play poker. No Josh would be there again to laugh and smile the way I so cherish.

In the hospital, I work with my share of the dying. I see the families and friends gather around, saying phrases that seem comforting, but that have little reality. Many people live in denial. Up until now, I have been one of them.

Then came the dream. . .

I was in some type of living room with Josh. We were laughing, having fun, doing the silly things that I much remember doing with him when just hanging out. Another person entered the room, and as I talked with the person, I realized that even though he was still smiling, Josh had quit speaking. The person who had entered the room didn't even to seem to notice Josh. I engaged the new visitor for a while and then it hit me. Looking directly at Josh I said, "He can't see you can he?" To which Josh simply shook his head no. I don't remember what happened next, but eventually as I started to rouse from my sleep, the dream fading, I distinctly remember thinking, "I'll come back here again, because it's someplace where Josh is truly happy."

I've been to that room another time or two in my sleep since then. Josh remains his jovial self, unfazed by death. For that I am glad.

Josh, I miss you buddy.
Wes