There’s this dream I often have: I’m sitting alone, on a bench, by the sea. Just sitting and holding onto a black balloon. The string is wrapped in between my fingers precisely; the only thing keeping it from floating away is the slight position in which it’s being held. I’m staring out for miles searching for the horizon, but it’s invisible. It’s almost like the ocean and the sky are painted of the same color from a painter’s hand palate, so I keep staring out, searching. Next thing I know it’s dark and I glance up to catch site of the stars illuminating delicately across the water, and I’m still just... sitting, holding onto the balloon. This night seems so much different than all others, the sky is so beautiful, the most beautiful that my eyes had ever seen, almost completely indescribable. I don’t know what this strange feeling is that lies deep in my gut, but I just feel... at peace with the world, with myself.

It’s then that I notice my entire family walking in front of me, dressed all in black:

My mom, my brother, even my father come into view, stalking solemnly before me. I leap off the bench and run toward them, yelling out their names “Momma! Zach! Patrick..?” but they don’t respond. I scurry, attempting to catch up, to even just get close. When I do, they can’t see me. I push my brother, playfully, but my hands slip through his body, as if I’m only a shadow. Scared, I pull away quickly and feel goose bumps form on my arms and I begin to feel woozy and short of breath.

“What just happened?” I murmur.

For awhile, I just follow them silently, each step getting harder to take. At some point we wonder off the beach and through a familiar neighborhood. They stroll at a leisurely pace arm in arm until the sun comes up. Then, my family approach this tall black gate covered with dead leaves. It’s dark and majestic, yet, looks uncared for. I feel attached to this place; I feel as though this is where I was meant to end up. Together, we walk through it. Looking around, I realize we’ve just entered a graveyard. Sauntering back a little farther, my family finds a tombstone and kneels quietly in front of it, tears falling from their eyes, flowers placed gently on the ground in front of a tombstone. I lean in a little to see whose death was worth my parents being within 10 feet of each other… It is my tombstone.

In disbelief, I fall to the ground, finally releasing the black balloon from my grasp. As I lay down on my back I just watch it float away, knowing that there is no way to get it back down to Earth. Strangely enough, letting go of that black balloon gives me this great release. The more I think about it, I think the black balloon was me, my life, and I was finally letting go, knowing it couldn’t be saved. Again, this feeling of peace washes over my being.

Inevitably, every time I wake up, I can’t breathe. I lay my head on my pillow and cry. I wrap my blanket around myself tightly, trying to calm down. I can’t stop thinking about that dream. I know this sounds strange, but from the second I woke up, I wanted to have my grasp around the string again.

I miss that damn balloon.