Last night I dreamt my mother had died.
I got a call from my grandmother, waking me up, to tell me she had died. I was devastated.
I was living in my apartment in Trinidad, and my landlord had come, and he was taking care of me. I kept telling him it wasn’t true, but he told me it was, because he had seen it on television. No one would tell me how she died. Or maybe they told me and I don’t remember.
Somehow I made it to my brother’s house, and it was definitely not where he is living now. On the verandah, I saw his girlfriend who was there with another friend of hers. She smiled and said hello when I came up the stairs.
I asked her if she knew about my mother, she said yes. I asked her how was my brother, she said he’s alright. I asked her if he knew about Mummy, she said yes.
I looked at her and said, “You don’t know my brother at all. He is devastated by this, even more than me.”
She said nothing more and I went into the house. My brother was sitting there, stiff and seemingly in control. I sat down next to him and leaned against him, and started to cry. He was trembling, but not crying at all.
I knew he was holding it all in, and he hadn’t accepted it yet. I just cried and cried.