My emotions have been going crazy the last week, and I’ve found myself tearing up and remembering how horrible this time last year was. I kept playing in my head the image of my brother walking up and down the Golden Gate Bridge, waiting for lesser foot traffic so he could get his moment to jump.

Last night, I dreamt that I was back home just days after he died, and I was going through all of his belongings. I was sitting on the living room floor surrounded by piles of papers and books and boxes of his many toys and collectibles. I opened a box with a lot of miniature figurines no bigger than my thumbnail, and I’m admiring each of them one by one, wondering how he had all these little things and I had no idea. In the dream, my mouth feels dry and my entire head feels numb. And the house is somber and I am alone, all by myself, surrounded by Ed’s things.

This dream was disappointing because I never even got to see him; who wants to dream about remembering pain and misery and losing someone? I think he might do this to me purposely. When he hasn’t visited in a while in my dreams, and I want him to come, he doesn’t come. And this time of the year will always be the worst because not only does it contain the anniversary of his death, but just one month later, what would be his birthday. And this year, it would have been his 35th. My poor Ed never got to see his 35th birthday. Yet life goes on without him.