Good Morning Wake Up Call: Grace Part 3

Grace shares her recurring nightmare and how she clears her mind.

Rain. Each droplet softly settles itself on my cheek. But something's wrong and I can't seem to pick myself up off the hard, cold ground. My legs won't move, and I catch a glimpse of a car emitting smoke near me in the empty road. There is something near my feet, someone is laying next to me. Turning my head just a bit more I realize it's Daniel. At the sight of my brother's grey dead eyes frozen in his last moments of terror, I wake up.

The buzzing of my phone's alarm unsettles the calm quiet I had finally been able to take advantage of after a draining night with my family. This nightmare has constantly recurred ever since I tore up a picture of Daniel and I in a fit of exhaustion and guilt. It can only be interpreted as a regretful reminder after the first time I had dreamt it. Every time it became worse, and even closer to reality.

However, I've found a way to disregard the image by reminding myself that Daniel didn't hate me, he loved me. With that I get up, turn the alarm off and get dressed in jeans, a grey baseball t-shirt, and Daniel's old hoody with his old high school logo faded on the front. Every Saturday morning I get up early and ride my bike down to the beach, which is only one mile from my house. Each time I take my journal and sketch the nature that unfolds around me, or I write anything down in regards to the homework assigned to me by the family therapist. These passages mainly contain details of the newly emerged habits  my family members have developed because of Daniel's death. Since they all have that in common they all act the same, depressed, exhausted, regretful, and most of all empty.

 

It is now six thirty as I retrieve my bike out of the garage. The grey paint chipped and faded welcomes me over. It had been raining last night, so the sky is heavily overcast, and the air smells refreshing. Beginning my journey down our street I recite the usual path that takes me to the beach in my head. Ride down a few blocks and then take a small, narrow path down the sand dune.

Upon my arrival I notice this morning was the same as ever, and the small beach is calm without it’s weekend visitors. It never ceases to let me clear every troubling thought that etches itself in my mind. Because of that, all I notice is the small waves rolling, tumbling, and crashing against the water’s surface. The sand washes away, and like many things it is now scattered and lost.

 

November 10th, 2016: Journal Entry #96

 

Everything seems perfect, but that’s the best part of being deceived. You can believe anything, and you can forget anything…

 

 

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