I dreamed that my father came back last night. I’m not a child of divorce; he’s been dead for almost ten years. So it’s not like it could happen or anything.
I dreamed that he was never really dead, but had simply gone away to get better (he had lung cancer if you’re curious) and complete some unfinished business (like beating up someone who hurt a family member). It felt like he was returning from a quest. But he wasn’t the same guy that I knew as a child.
He never is in any of the dreams I have about him.
Sometimes he can come back but only if he lies on the floor underneath my aunt’s couch, and cannot speak (I don’t understand that either – dreams are weird like that). Sometimes he simply looks different. Not dead but…different. I guess you would be different after you went through the biggest transformation of your existence – from life to death.
These dreams don’t fill me with fear of death or the afterlife, or anger about my father dying in the first place. But they make me feel this numb sadness. That I can’t see him, or talk to him, or show him what I’ve done with my life.
That I can only remember him. And remember the feelings I used to have for and with my father when he was alive.
I think about my dad every day. I miss him.