20 June 2012
I dreamt a lovely, wise old man died. It was in a grand old building with a large hall, being used for some full dress and black tie celebration. He was in an upstairs corridor talking to my mother who was comforting him, as he sat on the floor. He seemed younger, without his beard, wearing a light navy blue shirt and, although I know in my mind it was him, he looked oddly different but his talking was the very same. His wife was away. As my mother listened, other guests were passing, inconvenienced and having to step over him. He was telling an unfinished story as though he were carrying a workman's sack containing all the worlds secrets, neatly stashed away over his shoulder. I wasn't actually there. A french doctor shined a light upon him, as my friend simply lay down and quietly passed away. I think the doctor asked my mother who is next of kin but my French is limited to what I learnt at school. I believe she replied that she didn't really know him well enough.
Dreams can be so puzzling. My mother passed away in hospital many years ago. As far as I can tell she never knew my friend, someone I've met many years since. That he would wear a blue shirt to a formal occasion is very true of him. I've left out his name because I'm certain he remains with us, certainly hope so anyway? His great story remains unfinished...
Copyright Ⓒ 2012 Christopher Patrick Kirk all rights reserved
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