Reality:
My uncle was killed in a truck accident. He was driving his Eighteen-wheeler, crashed into another truck (i believe it was another truck) and died. It was a Sunday... Mother's Day to be exact. I was on my way to work with a friend when my father called. I was on the highway, when I saw his number and name pop up on the screen. It was probably around eleven thirty. I remember it was around that time because I remember thinking that my father should have been in church by then.
I heard it in his voice before he even said it. I didn't know who had died but I knew somebody had to have been. In my family, a simple, "hey what are you doing?" sounds heavy with sorrow and sadness regardless of anybody's attempt to sound cheerful. He told me, right there on Highway 41 that my uncle had been killed in an accident.
A few minutes later I called him back to ask the details. His truck had been on fire a long time. I can't remember how many hours it burned. That one detail managed to slip my mind and I'm thankful for it.
I cried for three days. Every second I got alone I cried. Not so much because he was no longer here on Earth because I already knew that my uncle had a seat in the kingdom. I cried out of selfishness, confusion and something else I can't really identify.
Why do bad things happen to good people?
THE DREAM:
I don't dream about him much. In the years he has been gone I've only dreamed of him twice. The other morning I woke up, chest tight like I had been holding my breath. I scared myself and snatched my phone charger out of the wall. The last thing I remembered was my uncle being in a hospital bed, telling me goodbye and I was crying. It was a belly aching, tantrum throwing, screaming, arms flailing cry... I was clawing at the floor and screaming but i don't remember anything he said to me before that. I just know that a heavy, nervous feeling has been on my head ever since...and now I feel like I'm waiting for the last shoe to drop or something.
No comments:
Post a Comment