The night before

The night before my brother took his life, I dreamt something odd. I was coming back home to San Francisco, and when I walked through the front door, there was Ed standing there, with just pants on, no shirt. He smiled at me without speaking, then reached out to me to hold me in his arms. As he wrapped his arms around me, I realized how cold he was. His arms were icy cold, and his body felt so cold and skinny against mine as I put my arms around him. It makes me want to sob to think about it in retrospect, but it’s odd how telling that dream was now that I think of it.

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