I remember dreaming last night. Of my brother, Tom, as I often do. This time we were very young. Long before he would become ill. But someone else had. In this dream there was another brother. A much younger one. Who inexplicably became ill. Then died. Years before Tom did, in reality. In my dream I had a precognition. Knowing what would eventually become of Tom. That blow somewhat softened by the knowledge that we still had time. Another ten or so years. Dream logic also explained why I didn’t have photos of this other brother. Because he died when he was too young. And that was also why he never had a name. In my dream it was painful. But accepted as cold, hard truth. As we accepted much in our early years. All things moving toward their end. When I woke this morning I was initially confused. Temporarily relieved that I hadn’t lost a younger brother. Then greatly saddened…grieving for Tom all over again.