I had a dream last night that I was on a film set, completely unable to engage. I was something non-essential to their process so I drifted around, sort of knowing people but mostly not knowing them, missing every possible connection in pursuit of a shirt or while moving from one inconsequential spot to another. I was missing things as well as connections, dog paddling in place, unable to touch ground, to find a place I could stand.
Then I saw my dad. He must have been about sixty in the dream. He was happy to see me. He had come to set because he knew I needed some help. He wanted to take care of me and he offered me some Centrum.
It was so great to see him and to see him so well and so happy to see me because of how it ended so badly with his nearly thirty year older actual self in the hospice outside of Phoenix, Arizona.
For a minute, it was like all that dying and uncertainty, all his desperate but failing attempt to hold on, and all that I didn’t do to help him win, it was like all of that was not gone but forgiven. Not gone because, after the shock of the dream, I still had to wake up to the same empty rooms with the same stains on the carpet but in there, in the dream, in that thirty minutes ago place, he’s still smiling at me which is really super nice.
It would have been his 90th birthday tomorrow. Hi dad. Happy Birthday. Thanks so much for the present.