Today would have been my father's 52nd birthday.
Would have been.
If he hadn't died ,unceremoniously, without warning, and for no apparent reason, 6 years, and 3 months ago.
So, for the past 6 years, and 3 months, I have been having a dream. It's got different details, but the broad strokes are always the same:
He shows up, unannounced, and says "I'm sorry I faked my death, can you ever forgive me?"
Usually, at this point, I either hug him, and start crying, or I punch him in the nose, and scream at him (and then hug him and start crying).
The frustrating thing is, though, that the dream will continue, and I will spend a week or more catching up with my dad, telling him about all the horrible things that have happened since he died, and feeling like I might be able to forgive him for leaving, because his reasons (though never the same) were good enough.
Every time I have this dream, I wake up expecting it to have been real. I wake up expecting my dad to be alive. I wake up, and reach for my phone to call him.
Then the dream shatters, and reality comes crashing down. And I have to live through his death all over again.
Pregnancy hormones cause dreams to be much more vivid.
Not only do I miss my dad, and feel bad that he's never going to meet his granddaughter while I'm awake; I also spend time with my dad, being excited about the baby, and even having some dreams where I can see the two of them playing together, which I have to wake up from.
Happy Birthday, Dad. I miss you.
One Boat, Two Women
8 hours ago