Last night, I dreamt that I was back home in San Francisco, sitting on my bed facing my parents’ room. I looked to my right, and there was Ed, kneeling beside his bed with his hands touching each other as though in prayer. He was wearing a black crew-neck, long-sleeved shirt. I can’t remember a time when I’ve dreamt of anyone and the color of their clothing stood out so much. He eventually looked up at me, and I said hi to him. And he said, “It’s time to leave,” as we locked eyes. Puzzled, I responded, “Leaving? Where are you going?” He looks at me solemnly. “It’s time to leave. I’m leaving,” he repeats again.

“I know that, but where are you going?” I plead with him. “Where are you going? Tell me where you are going?!” He doesn’t respond. He just stares at me and says nothing. And I know in the back of my mind that he is trying to tell me that it’s time to go to the bridge. It’s time to end his life. It’s time to leave this world and me and everything else and live in the house of the Lord forever.

I hate dreams like this. They are upsetting, and they only remind me, as though I really needed a reminder, that he’s gone, and that he died by jumping off a bridge.

They are also upsetting because I already never see him in this life, and when I see him in dreams, it’s as though he appears and then needs to leave me yet again, and again, and again.