Wandering Ghost

Five years ago, my brother passed away. He struggled for many years with a drug addiction.

Not long after, recovering from a tonsillectomy and buzzing on post-op pain meds, I had a dream: I was onstage, playing piano to a full audience, singing about not attending his funeral. I woke up shaken—but the lyrics stayed with me.

For the past five years, I've been slowly piecing this song together. It's less about music and more about what it means to avoid grief, to walk the long way around it, to keep moving while not going home.

I've been north now
I've been south now
I've been everywhere but my brother's funeral
I've been east now
I've been west now
I've been everywhere but my brother's funeral

The Long Way Around

My memories of Scottsbluff, Nebraska, feel so strange compared to what I see in the news now—wildfires darkening the summer skies and the once lush Wildcat Hills turning dry. I long to go back to visit, but I know it won't be the same as I remember.

I ain't been home in many years
Dust settled, barely able
Canals running dry
Wild cats all have dried

Avoidance as Survival

There's something researchers call "avoidance coping." It's not denial exactly—it's the brain trying to survive by steering away from unbearable reminders. But the weight never leaves; it waits, wandering like a ghost.

For me, those ghosts show up as music. And every time I sing this song, I'm not just avoiding grief—I'm finally letting it speak.

High plains, distant gleams they seem
Wandering ghosts in endless dreams
Under pressure, under steam
Lost in night, never seen

Connects to: [[grief/2025-10-18--the-first-time-i-cried-again]], [[grief/2025-11-03--grief-is-a-neural-process]], [[grief/2025-09-24--addiction-is-not-a-choice]]