Mary hadn’t seen Kevin in more than three years. She still felt protective of her little brother—she still loved him—but she couldn’t be around him. She didn’t even know where he lived.

He’d always called her Mar—Mary without the y—as if the second syllable would diminish their sibling affectio

Kevin’s behaviors had demanded their separation. He’d made unwise choices until his addiction stole his ability to choose. Her last words to him were, “If you hurt Mom or Dad, I’ll kill you.”

Mary woke one November morning with brilliant, beautiful tears. She knew she’d experienced more than a dream.

“I finally found you, Mar,” Kevin had said in the dream, wrapping her in hug that dissolved every heartache. She’d awakened feeling as if he was home and healed.

Throughout that day, wherever she went, Mary heard music that had always connected her to Kevin. It seemed to reinforce her dream. That evening her father called with the sad news. Timing proclaimed Kevin’s first stop after passing had been to reconcile with Mary.

There’s always an opportunity for reconnection, even beyond the grave, and loved ones frequently return to show us. If relationships can’t heal here, they can still heal there.