Late Soundgarden frontman Chris Cornell’s brother Peter Cornell recently marked the 3-year anniversary of Chris’ death by detailing a dream where the Cornell brothers got to say goodbye. You can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. Peter wrote on Faceboook:
Friends,
It’s been awhile. I hope that this post finds you healthy and safe. I don’t say that nonchalantly. This brutally unkind, global hurricane we are forced to navigate has touched all of us in some cruel way. My family and I send each one of you love and strength.
3 years. Already 3 years. Sometimes it feels like 50 years and sometimes it feels like yesterday. 3 nights this week Chris was in my dreams, I woke up crying after 2 of them. In one, we were sitting on the living room floor eating a bowl of cereal and talking about dogs and boats. I walked out of the room for a minute and then walked by him on the way to the kitchen. That’s when it smashed me like a baseball bat on the forehead. He wasn’t really there. He is dead. And then tears.
In another dream, he came to me to tell me he had made the wrong choice and asked me to help figure out how to travel back in time. We worked tirelessly and frantically and couldn’t solve it. In the end of the dream I felt like I was floating away, and he got smaller and smaller on the horizon. He said goodbye just before he disappeared, but as he was fading from my view he shouted, “At least I got to say goodbye this time. I love you Brother!” I woke up weeping.
In the first year following Chris’ suicide, I reluctantly recited the tired cliché “time heals all wounds”. What I’ve found since then is FUCK THAT! It doesn’t and it doesn’t have to. Without sorrow we couldn’t know happiness. Without pain we don’t know health and bliss. Without death, we don’t appreciate life. I discovered that it isn’t a process of getting over the devastation, but a process of coping with it as part of my life. Our lives. The sorrow doesn’t dissipate. It’s now my duty to hold it dear as a piece of a man that I loved my whole life and will continue to do so until I meet him at the pearly gates. He always wanted me to be okay, probably because I wasn’t for many decades. He did his best, always, to help me right my ship. The last thing he said to my wife when he saw her on April 19, 2017 was “promise me you will always take care of Peter.” His leaving us has set me on a path to leave no stone unturned when it comes to managing my mental illness, my recovery and my PTSD.
I miss him daily. Tears come frequently. 3 years or 5 years or 25 years … I will be the gatekeeper of the memories, our memories. His and mine. The last thing he said to me was on my birthday just before I left him at Fallon … was the same thing he said to me when I was living in NYC 17 years ago. The details are personal, but the gist is, he trusted me to be strong and protect those he loved the most.
Brother, I love you. I miss you the same as when we were flying home from Detroit that May. Lie in Peace. This time, I got this.
Much love to you all, PC
