I see dead peoplePosted: September 29, 2011
‘How are we even having this conversation, Dad? You’re dead…’
‘I know. It’s OK. I still care about you…’
And then I woke up. It was too much. My logical brain took over. But I really wish it hadn’t. I really wish I could have held on to the dream.
Because it was nice, chatting away with him. Even if I can’t remember what we were chatting about. I’d like more chats with him. And you know, he seemed OK with being dead, which is nice.
But what if it was actually my Dad and not a construct of my imagination, talking to me while I sleep, trying to let me know he still loves me? What if the people we lose visit us in our dreams, when our minds are at their most relaxed and receptive? What if he came to see me, travelled all the way from wherever into my subconscious, and I booted him out without giving him a chance to say what he wanted to?
What if. Dangerous words.
I don’t know if I believe in ghosts or spirits or ‘the other side’. But I want to. I really want to. I really want to spend more time with my Dad. Real time, imaginary time, dream time… The kind of time doesn’t matter. He was real last night, in my dream. He was real and he was talking to me and it was so good to see him, and that’s good enough for me.
People say ‘I’d do anything to see so-and-so again, just once.’ I’ve never really understood it until now. I’ve never understood the power of regret. I really would do anything to be able to say all of the things I didn’t, to make sure Dad knows that I love him, to let him know how fucking proud I am of him. That’s the biggie. I think he knew I loved him, but I’m not sure he knew how amazing I thought he was. Think he is. He was a rock and roll star! In a band! And so many people loved him. So very many.
My eyes have been quietly leaking all day. Sometimes not so quietly, actually. I was sobbing in the loo within 3 minutes of arriving at work this morning. I wish I hadn’t woken up today. I really want my Dad.