Bones of a Dybbuk

I believe dreams have meaning. Not all dreams mind you, but if a dream seems memorable in some unexplainable way, or replays itself night after night, I often take that as your subconscious' blinking neon sign method of pointing out something obvious you are missing.

Since my cousin's death I have had a reoccurring dream. The details often change, but the setting and framework are nearly identical.

It is always a noir murder mystery based loosely around the premise of Veronica Mars, often featuring some of its characters by name, and since not once in the dozens of times I have had this dream has it featured the titular character dressed as Slave Girl Leia I am forced to assume that there is some reasoned subtext inherent that I have been missing.

In 2007, my cousin Sunny had developed a seemingly peculiar interest into the death of our Great Uncle Elof some 60 years previous. She researched details of it eventually finding a copy of his death certificate, which was, "fun fact", dated the same day as Sunny's Birthday.

The evidence of the case seemed to indicate Elof had cashed out his bank account, taken a train from Duluth to Minneapolis, slit his wrists, and then jumped into the Mississippi river with $300 in his pockets. Sunny was convinced that he had actually been murdered, and she even filled the paper work to have the case opened as a Cold Case file.

A couple months ago we received word of the contents of Sunny's official death certificate. "Cause of Death" was ruled to be "Natural Causes". Which would make sense if she were 60 years older than she was, or perhaps was suffering from Progeria. But since she was instead 30 and otherwise completely healthy I read that ruling as "I am a California corner who would rather be out surfing on the beach than in a morgue, bye-ee".

(A more reasonable person might say that since Sunny's heart was stopped by a surgeon to facilitate organ donation, that it is SOP to rule it "Natural Causes", but I am not that person at the moment.)

The lack of a "Reason" for Sunny's death angers me in an acute way that I have been told is a healthy part of the grieving process. But this additional lack of a "reason" for Sunny's death just plain pisses me off.

I feel compelled to dig into the medical particulars of her case, to file petitions for her medical records, to harangue cardiologists for plausible hypotheses. Sadly, "double first cousins" isn't a high enough familial "rank" to allow me to request the necessary documents, although clearly, I think it should be.

So ultimately, I'd have to bug her husband, an idea that always stops me cold. My itch to uncover the truth just seems insignificant compared to whatever glacier of sorrow he is riding.

And so it is, I am stuck. My brain forced to play out its driving impulses on the stage of mind, ideally with a run shorter than Cats.