I lost my father 12 years ago, quite suddenly to a heart attack. He was at work when he suffered his attack and his last words were "Call an ambulance!".
I was living two states away and I remember it being a beautiful day. I am now 48 years old, and still his absence cuts me to the bone sometimes. I have dreamt about him, and it's one dream in particular that has stuck with me the most. I shall relate it here in just a bit.
The mere suddenness of his passing has left the traditional open wounds and unresolved issues. Did I tell him that I loved him enough? Did I make sure he knew how much he meant to me? Did I ever get to prove that I am a man in my own right? Is he disappointed in me and in the way I live?
Such are the feelings that sometimes just grab me by the throat like a ravenous animal, and reduces me to tears, reverting me back to that same raw moment when I learned that he was gone. Sometimes, I try to discern what my dreams of him meant. In moments of clearer lucidity, it comes through, but in times like this I re-think my impressions and come up empty.
My Dream: I am at my parents' house. There are a lot of people there, like a holiday or something. People are sitting around the dining room table and my father is sitting at his usual place. Talk is light and cacaphonous, as my family is half-italian and there just seems to be a natural inclination for many conversations to be taking place at once. My dad is talking and laughing along with everyone else. Suddenly, he looks up at the clock on the wall, and says "Well, I guess I'd better get going". He rises from the table, and everyone says goodbye and good luck to him...like he's going to work, or on a brief trip.
I watch from the bar in the dining room. I am bewildered that he has gotten up from the table and is going into the bathroom. Where is he going? What does everyone know that I don't? After several minutes, he emerges. Not only is he decked out in jeans and t-shirt and leather jacket, he is a much younger version of himself. I get up from the bar and start walking towards him, to ask him what is going on. He is standing at the front door, and I stop him before he goes out. I ask him where he's going. I ask him if I can come with him.
At this point, I realize that I am asking to go with him because I am genuinely afraid; like something terrible could happen, and I want to be there to either protect him, or be on hand to share in whatever happens. He smiles, and tells me that I can't go with him. He deflects all answers as to why not. By now, I come to the realization that this is no ordinary trip, and that it has deep meaning. With tears in my eyes, I tell him that I don't want him to go. He embraces me and says that he has to. He then whispers something in my ear that I still don't entirely understand. He whispers: "We'll catch up."
He then turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him. I never see him again. Behind me, the conversations are carrying on like before, like nothing unusual has happened. I then awaken. I should suffix this by relating that his youngest brother, my uncle whom I have been very close with all of my life, passed away suddenly this past September. I think of him often, and of course by doing so think of my father as well.
Sometimes the pain and grief and sense of loss isn't too bad. Other times, it cuts me clean in half. I assume that in their new heightened awareness, they see all and sundry that I have been and what I have become. I wonder if I have disappointed them terribly, and if they can ever forgive me for the things they never knew but know now. I don't know if I will ever catch up to my father, or if he would ever even want me to. Curie
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