I’m not sure why but I had a dream about my father last night. He would have been 73 years old this month were he alive. November was his birth month. Funny, I used to never remember his birthday while he was alive. I’m curious why I remember it now like clockwork. Is it because we were finally able to have some sort of peace together towards the end? I’m not sure to be honest.
The dream itself wasn’t overly significant. It was just odd that my father kept coming into the picture. And to be fair, it was a nice dream. No drama, no bad stuff, no painful memories. That is a good thing because I don’t have many good memories of my father. The few good years have been overshadowed by the painful years after my step-mother came along.
Ironically, I find as the years pass I miss my father more and more. I don’t really understand that either. We were never closer after my teen years, for obvious reasons. I still carry the emotional (and physical) scars of his impact on my life. My younger brother doesn’t understand as he was simply too young, but I know my older brother does. He and I got the full brunt of my father’s wrath on many many MANY occasions.
Anyway, back to the point of my little ramble. As much as I tried to shake the memories, they’ve stuck with me today. Maybe dad was looking in on me and this was his way of letting me know. While never a very religious man, my father did believe in the “here-after”, as he called it. My father also believed in other-worldly things like ghosts. There were several episodes in my early childhood where my father surprised me with his compassion and comfort when I needed it.
One time in particular, I was being haunted by an apparition for several months. Looking back on it, I think I was on the verge of losing my sanity. This was not a passing nightmare or dream fantasy. It was as tangible and real as the keyboard I’m typing on now. It plagued me night after night for months. It would wake me from a sound sleep, I’d be freezing, and I would clearly see it watching me. My only rational response at the time was blood-curling screams and hurling my body full-force into bed with my father on a nightly basis.
Of course, never missing an opportunity to ridicule me, my step-mother taunted me with names and verbal abuse. She even had the audacity to suggest it was my dead foster mother come back for revenge. Toward the end though, I think even she relented a little. As hard as she tried, her belligerent threats and bullying weren’t enough to overcome my fear. That and one night she decided to ‘show me’ and slept in my bed. The next morning she was unusually quite and never slept in my bed again. She never did explain to me or dad, what she saw/felt, if anything. But after that, I do remember she was less mean to me. She even did little nice things for me, which was totally out of character for her.
After one dreadfully painful night spent screaming and throwing everything I could get my grubby little hands on, my father sat me down the next day to comfort me. It is one of the few times in my entire childhood I can remember my father holding me. He also gave me some advice on how he would handle it. I was doe-eyed because he didn’t ridicule me, he didn’t talk down to me, he was speaking to me as if we were equals. Even if he didn’t believe me per se, he could see the very real fear in my eyes. That and I think he too might have realized my little id was fast reaching a breaking point. And his advice worked! Whether it was my confidence to overcome said entity by denying it the energy it needed or whatever, it worked. It was also the first time in my life I faced something on my own. I think much of self-confidence today stems from that one episode.
Ok, so back on topic. I miss my father. It comforts me to know I am holding onto the good parts of my life with him. And Dad, if you are out there sending me a message. I got it, loud and clear. I haven’t forgotten you.