Remember, you will die — An anecdote on mourning the death of friends
By Rory Archer
Last week, I called out of work.
That morning, I woke up slowly and silently, the glow of morning light tinting my curtains. It was an hour earlier than I needed to get up, but I stared at the wood of my bedframe, unmoving. The only thing disturbing the peace of that morning was my sniffling, and my pillow becoming increasingly wet with tears under the weight of my cheek.
I couldn’t stop. The more aware I became, the more whistling breaths turned to gasping sobs. The conscious, rational part of my brain kept looping the dream I had, my high school classmate and I visiting their partner in the hospital. Most of the dream was now fragmented and lost to my short-term memory, but my brain just kept replaying it, churning unprocessed emotions and memories until I could u...
