It didn't matter that I saw my Dad dead. The most horrible moment in my life is not when I walked into that room to see his lifeless body there with the tube coming out of his throat. It was the moment I laid my head on his chest and thought "Why isn't he touching me" Oh my God. He will never again reach up and put his hand on my head. He won't hug me. He won't laugh again. He won't...anything.
I still can't talk about that moment. How difficult that was. Actually saying the words of how I felt, impossible.
Last night I had another. It was different. It involved more people. It involved Eric's Aunt and Uncle who live across the street from my Dad. His Aunt is the one who called me and told her there was an ambulance at his house.
The dream was, again, all these people telling me that he hadn't really died. It was a prank. He was alive and well. It couldn't be I cried. Impossible. My dad would NEVER do that to me. He would never allow me to suffer to much for six years. My dad wouldn't let six years go by and not contact me. So there I was. Walking down his street.
He is standing at his car putting something in the trunk. WHAT? He looks at me and shrugs as if to say "oops". WHAT?! I run away screaming. Crying. Eric's Aunt and Uncle telling me how he had to do it. I was hysterical.
Then I woke. No answers. No reasons. It was horrible. When I woke I knew it was a dream. I wasn't even crying as I sometimes do. But I thought, why now. Why the change in dream?
I am not sure but I need my head to understand that I don't want these dreams anymore. Give me some memories or something else. Anything else.
I used to think I saw my Dad everywhere when he died. He was the guy walking in our neighborhood I never really noticed before. Someone leaving a building ahead of me. Luckily that doesn't happen anymore. Causing my heart to stop. The tears to flow and for one split second to want to call out "Dad?"