Thirty Years Ain't Nothin'

When my father died I was twelve years old. Unfortunately I never had true confirmation of his passing as I never got to see him with my own two eyes once he died. I was shipped off to a friend's house for about 4 days, not to be seen nor heard by anyone. This was definitely not for my own good, as by then I had already seen a friend's mom's cadaver (cancer), my grandmother's (old), my grandfather's (lonely without my grandmother) and most likely a couple of others I don't even remember. My sisters, my brother, my mom, his girlfriend... I'm sure even our dog got to see him, but not me. I didn't get to go to the funeral, I didn't get to say goodbye, I didn't rummage through his things to keep one or two of his shirts like my siblings did (they would wear them as pajamas). One of my sisters noticed my empty hands and gave me one of the shirts she had absconded to proudly have as my own. Then I, like the others, could pretend to be sleeping near dad, smelling his scent still on his clothing, knowing we'd never see him again.

At times throughout my life I would dream about him, still alive, a little older. The first time he was crossing our old street, coming at me. The second time he was on some steps. Another time, he had a full head of totally white hair and I believe he even wore a white suit.

But somewhere along my rocky road the dreams began to change. Yes he was still around, but the dreams no longer seemed like dreams, not while I was dreaming them. Does that make sense?

I would be somewhere with my mostly insane family (the insane part is my reality) and they were all clearly hiding something from me. One way or another I heard that my dad was still alive and had been in hiding for the past 30 years. Everyone knew this but me. I would try and try to get more information as to his whereabouts, mostly out of fear that he would die before I got to see him again.

Ever since, every single one of my dreams about him are the same. I finally get to see him, but he has to leave, or I'm about to get his address and I can't, or don't get to really see him. He told me in my dream that he went into hiding to not hurt me anymore (he was a depressed alcoholic). And, as I said, everyone knew about this but me. The whole thing is SO unbelievably real, so convincing, so emotionally correct.

I wake up from this dream with a feeling so strong I can only describe it as a desperate longing for my father. It's not just missing him, it's this strange, strong longing that I can't recall ever truly feeling for someone before, and it goes on for days.

My sister tried to help me with all of this yesterday, and although she suggested meditation and different ways to "connect" with him, it's just not good enough. I need him here, damnit. It's a wound that never heals, like an ulcer in the walls of your heart. Sometimes it flares up more than others, but if you think about it you realize it's always there... and there's always that pain.

So most days you don't think about it, until you dream...

G