On Borrowed Time
Many years ago, I had this dream where my brother Peter died. I was in my late teens or early twenties at the time and the strange thing about the dream was that even though Peter was dead, he had somehow been given a few more hours of life. I was the only one in the family who knew what was going on and I remember sitting at the dining room table across from Peter while we both cried because we knew he’d soon be leaving us forever. It’s been so long now that I can’t begin to recall any incident that might have triggered this dream or why he had been given that lease on life. I tried writing a play about the dream, but I don’t think I ever got beyond a first draft. Peter died back in May, and I still feel this terrible gap in my life. I’ll see a story on the news or watch a TV show or movie, and I still have the urge to tell him all about it—until I realize he’s not here. I think the dream came back to me after my brother’s widow sent some photos of Peter. There’s a pictu...