Last night, I dreamt that Ed and I were in line to go into a small room one by one, and he went into the room first. He stayed in there for about ten minutes and came out. What’s going on in there? Well, I found out that we’re all in line to meet with God. God is sitting in that room waiting for each of us to come inside, and he asks each of us the exact same question. The question is: What day do you think you will die?

Ed explains this all to me when he exited the room. “So what did you respond with when he asked that?” I ask him. He looks at me plainly. “July 22, 2013,” he replies. I felt sick immediately, and I ask him why he said that date. Why that date in particular? “Take it back,” I say to him sternly. “Tell him it won’t be that date!” He continues to look at me without much expression on his face, and he doesn’t respond. I get frustrated. “I don’t want to go in there,” I said, beginning to feel angry. “I don’t want to hear that question, and I don’t want to answer it.” He still says nothing.

Honestly, I wasn’t even thinking about what day I would die. I was fixated on the fact that Ed decided that he would die on July 22, 2013. I didn’t want it to be true, even if that date is already over two years ago. Even in my dreams, I don’t want to believe it.

Sometimes, I really hate reality. I hate the fact that he is gone. I’m not saying life would be perfect for him or for me if he were still here. In fact, his life probably would still be miserable if he were still with us. But I hate thinking about the fact that my brother is dead. Today is just one of those difficult days.