Four years since the senseless murder of the Solik’s

A reflection, written by Greg Solik, son of Roger and Christine Solik..

Tonight, four years ago, Calli and I had a conversation with my parents at about 8pm. It was a good conversation. We did not know they were being watched. We did not know that that was the last time that we would speak. But it was.

We all walk the path of loss differently. Each of us endures our own journey, even together – with siblings, with loved ones, with a community, which ultimately, I believe, holds the magic power to heal; we hold hands but we have our own conversations. With ourselves, with our bodies.

Every year now, this year no different, my dreams change in February. I am visited again, by a grief. There are other times in the year, maybe a birthday, when these dreams come, but so far, February is the month for mourning. This year it happened even before I was aware of the season. It is a strange experience to remember even before remembering. To know that my sleeping body counts and recounts, even as I take on the tasks of each day.

In some respects, I am always standing over the bridge from which they were thrown. I am always there on that bridge, with the harsh midlands wind, staring; into my own consciousness; into the past; maybe even into the future; maybe even all at once, if this is possible to understand; that this death has created a living wound, tucked away in my heart.

There are many things I can say, or try to say about this living wound, but today is not the day. I write to you simply to remember.

I still,
I still dream of you.
I still dream of you.
Dreams,
Remembering dreams,
Dreams remembering life
Remembering death.
I still dream
Of you,
I still dream.
Keep visiting me.

Greg Solik