I dreamed about my dad again.
I always dream about him, even to this day. It has been at least four, maybe five years since his demise, and it is still as fresh in my memory as the day it happened. For a long while, my memory had dismissed all events prior to his death. I believe I walled it all off to avoid the pain of the many times that I fell crying while my parents fought. I had no room of my own, so I witnessed it all, and eventually I ended up counseling them with the very tools that my father had invented in his own philosophy, which he dubbed with the title of Modern Aspectivism.
In my dream, he had very long hair, past his waste. He had the same beard that he had in real life but longer as well. Later, he appeared to have shaved clean, cut his hair and donned a suit and tie. The only strange thing was that his tie was on backwards and hung from his back. I never once saw my father when he was clean shaven. All my life he had his beard, so this dream seems a bit peculiar.
In all of my dreams about my father, he appears to be alive as he ever was and saying that either he is still alive and everyone else but me doesn't know it or that he is alive and will appear although everyone believes he is dead. Either is a second coming of sorts or he just feigned death to get people's attention.
Of course, I know for a fact that he did die. I saw his dead corpse myself that night, and it was white as a ghost. They had not put the sheet over him then, and it was the scariest, saddest thing I had ever witnessed. That night I didn't cry, and I don't believe I have ever outright cried over his death. I was partially in shock and partially heavily medicated. I exclaimed monotonously, "Dead dad, dead dad, dead dad." I was also angry at him for leaving me when I had just left the hospital, the very one that I had to visit when he died. He hated hospitals, and it is a shame that he had to die in one, because according to my mother, he may not have been completely dead when she found him on the floor.
I cannot imagine how my mother can live in that house with the memory of where he died haunting her night and day. He died where my own bed used to be, and whenever I sit on the couch that now occupies that space, I cannot help but think about it. That was also where my bed was, and sometimes when I used to have trouble sleeping, I would go there. It was comforting somehow.
Maybe it has something to do with Father's Day rolling around again. You would think I might have gotten over all of that, but no, I suppose I never truly will.
In my dream, he had very long hair, past his waste. He had the same beard that he had in real life but longer as well. Later, he appeared to have shaved clean, cut his hair and donned a suit and tie. The only strange thing was that his tie was on backwards and hung from his back. I never once saw my father when he was clean shaven. All my life he had his beard, so this dream seems a bit peculiar.
In all of my dreams about my father, he appears to be alive as he ever was and saying that either he is still alive and everyone else but me doesn't know it or that he is alive and will appear although everyone believes he is dead. Either is a second coming of sorts or he just feigned death to get people's attention.
Of course, I know for a fact that he did die. I saw his dead corpse myself that night, and it was white as a ghost. They had not put the sheet over him then, and it was the scariest, saddest thing I had ever witnessed. That night I didn't cry, and I don't believe I have ever outright cried over his death. I was partially in shock and partially heavily medicated. I exclaimed monotonously, "Dead dad, dead dad, dead dad." I was also angry at him for leaving me when I had just left the hospital, the very one that I had to visit when he died. He hated hospitals, and it is a shame that he had to die in one, because according to my mother, he may not have been completely dead when she found him on the floor.
I cannot imagine how my mother can live in that house with the memory of where he died haunting her night and day. He died where my own bed used to be, and whenever I sit on the couch that now occupies that space, I cannot help but think about it. That was also where my bed was, and sometimes when I used to have trouble sleeping, I would go there. It was comforting somehow.
Maybe it has something to do with Father's Day rolling around again. You would think I might have gotten over all of that, but no, I suppose I never truly will.