An interesting thing about that dream was, a few months afterward, Mary ran away from home and moved to Texas with her boyfriend. Some have suggested that Mary's role in the dream may have been a premonition. More importantly, however, it served as an analogy for how I felt at that time, and showed in a very concrete way how strong those feelings were.
For about a month thereafter, I found myself sinking into a deeper level of depression. I began thinking about my own mortality. Aurora and I had a lot of things in common, among them a sense of loneliness and depression. I had fought these for most of my life up to that point.
Aurora was the strong one--she visited me, she stuck up for me, and she told me not to worry about what others think. She fought sadness and loneliness like I did, and it killed her. What chance did I have?
Then, one night, the depression that came from Aurora's death disappeared. The best way I could describe it was that it was as if someone flicked a switch, and it vanished instantly. This was accompanied by a sensation that wasn't quite in words, but felt something like; You shouldn't feel this way any more. It is hurting you. I don't want you to feel like that.
Of course, I still felt sadness for her, and I still do. I still miss her.
I visit her every now and then, usually around this time of year. I find her headstone decorated with flowers, cards, letters, and easter eggs. We talk just as we used to, only this time I do most of the talking.
I have a lot on my mind nowadays--work, bills, projects, relationships, and other things that make my childhood worries and preoccupations seem rather mundane and trivial. But I often find Aurora somewhere deep in my thoughts, reminding me to never let anything keep me from enjoying my time here, and to never take anything for granted. Moments come once, and then they're gone. People come, and then are gone. Spend time wisely, because no one knows how much he or she has left.