Last night, I had a dream about my dad. In my dream, I was back in the hospital the day my dad died. A few minutes after he died, maybe 30 or 40 minutes after, a doctor came up to us and told us that he was breathing again and seemed to be doing better and on the way to recovery. The next thing I know, my dad and I are walking around an apartment complex looking for an apartment for me.
I woke up and knew that the dream wasn’t true, but I sure wish it was. I wish my dad was still here with us, on the road to recovery, preparing to go back to work. That’s the dream that every person wishes when a loved one dies, but no matter how hard we wish, it never comes true, never comes to life.
Last night at work, a co-worker and I were talking about my dad and she told me that she knew he was watching down on me, watching down on everything that I was doing. I said “Well, I better start behaving then, shouldn’t I?” We laughed and then I said “Well, it’s not like I’m doing anything, anyway” and she said “I know you haven’t.” And she told me to keep his memories close.
Everybody seems to be shocked about my dad. It was a shock to my mom and I, too. Nobody dies of a perferated colon anymore, hardly anybody dies of blood clots. Why did my dad have to die? He was complaining of his leg hurting for a whole week before the doctors did anything about it. I’m sure they feel guilty about it now, wishing they could’ve done something more.
You can’t change the past. You can only take one day at a time, and work your way into a new sense of normal. I’ll never stop missing my dad, never stop thinking about him. I hope one day I’ll meet him in heaven and talk about everything that we missed since October 4.