I had a very vivid dream last night. I was back home in San Francisco, and I’m in my dad’s car with my parents as my dad is driving up the hill. As we reach the top, I see Ed and my cousin standing there, seemingly in an argument. As I look closer, I realize that Ed has a gun in his hand as he waves it around, and I hear their argument: my cousin is trying to convince Ed not to shoot himself. Ed wants to end his life. I start yelling at my dad to stop the car, but he refuses. “He’s going to do what he wants, so just let him do it,” my dad says. “He never listens to anything we say, so what difference will it make?” I scream at him and tell him that’s not the point; we need to help him because he needs us now, at this very second. We keep arguing and screaming at each other, and I threaten to jump out of the moving vehicle if he does not pull over. When he finally stops the car, I run out and get to the top of the block to see that Ed has already shot himself in the head. Blood is everywhere surrounding his skull, and my cousin is lying over him, screaming and crying for Ed’s life. Our mom runs over and is wailing, and our dad stands there stoically and says nothing.

It’s like a reminder to me that Ed is never coming back, and my parents will always be who they are, as frustrating and painful as it is for me.