dream walking

I dreamed of my father last night for the first time

He died 4 years ago and had been silent to me

We were in the living room with my mother

Of last house I shared with my parents as a teenager

Before I moved out on my own at 17


My Dad was young, at most early to mid 20’s.

Dressed in the stylish bad boy clothes of the early 60’s

His hair was dark and his face was healthy and smooth

He had poured himself carelessly into an upholstered chair

Throwing one denim clad leg up and over the arm, as he reclined


He grinned with a bit of a sardonic look, a half smile

Then I saw his eyes and they were not a young mans

They crinkled at the corner, showing future laugh lines

I saw the man who knew me and loved me

Acknowledging me and the place I was at in my life

The teasing look he used with me was unmistakeable


We didn’t talk, he was simply present as dream occurred

The actual interaction was between my mother and I

It was tense and standoffish, full of innuendo and slights

And rather than becoming upset by her snarky diatribe

I was centered by my fathers presence, seen but not heard


I can feel the weight of the cup I picked up

I can sense the temperature change with the opening of a door

I can hear all of the noise of movement between the rooms

The running water in the kitchen and the coolnessof water on my hand

And yet he was not there for her to see and it makes me wonder


I have not spoken to my mother in 8 months – not a word

My decision was a direct response to one of her actions

There was a moment of simple clarity where “I was done”

I am not angry or upset with her; there is no waiting for a call

This is not a punishment I am doling out in retribution

It is a simple and easy absence from the drama she was creating

It feels right and is of no consequence to me at all on any level


Because of the distance between us, both physically and emotionally

I have not talked to her about him in any way since he died

I wonder if he has visited her and shared his peace

I don’t know what it meant to have him come to me after so long

I felt that he doesn’t miss me because he never left me


I had the impression time is not the same to those who have died

It’s either unimportant or they are unaware of it being relevant

There is no consideration of what time was or how it was measured

It was strange to be aware of my father as an observer to my dream

But not as part of it in any way

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