A Small Measure of Comfort

It's been a bit over three weeks since my best friend did the unthinkable and took his own life.  Kind of hard to believe... it seems like forever since I saw him last.  For the most part, I've moved past the crushing, debilitating, profound grief that I experienced for the first week or two, but I still miss him terribly.  I'm beginning to return to life and have good experiences, but when I wake up, when I'm alone, and when I go to sleep, my thoughts invariably return to him.  Generally speaking, I feel hollow... empty... more than sad, but less than depressed.  Last night, though, I learned that things could be worse.

You see, I had a dream about my friend last night.  In this dream, I was in a hospital, sitting across the table from my friend, who was completely catatonic.  There was no expression on his face, no life in his eyes.  I spoke to him, trying desperately to get through to the man I knew was in there somewhere, but I was having no success.  I heard the doctor say "He's dead.  His mind is completely gone, but his body doesn't know it yet."

That's when my brain reminded me that my friend is indeed dead, and awakened me from the dream.  When I returned to consciousness, I immediately realized that things could be worse.  Yes, my friend took his own life.  But at least he succeeded.  It would have been far worse if things had dragged on, with his mind gone, but his body present.  This is a cold comfort, but it is, nonetheless, some measure of peace.