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The Dream

October 4, 2011

I was sitting at the dining room table, when I heard my dad call for me in the garage.  When I walked into the garage, I saw my dad standing on the other side of my mom’s car.  He was talking about what I would need to get in order to fix something in the house.  But, before I could understand what he was talking about, I woke up.  For the first time since his death, I dreamed of my dad. 

As I laid there in bed, staring at the big red numbers on my alarm clock, I found myself overcome with all the emotions I have been feeling since his hospitalization and passing.  Feelings of anger, resentment and sorrow have been normal for me over the past few weeks.  But, in a strange twist on the emotional roller coaster I have been on the past few months, I was, for a brief, fleeting moment, happy.

Why would I feel happy, even for the briefest of moments?  Looking back at the events over the past week, I think I tie it to one occasion as I drove home from work.  Since this whole ordeal began, I have found myself driving home with the radio off.  I find that I am enjoying the peace and quiet during the drive, and it allows me time to process my thoughts.  While driving home last week, I realized that I had already forgotten how my dad’s voice sounded.  I remember the sound of it from his stay in the hospital, very slurred and garbled.  Most of what he said was unintelligible.  But, before you could ask him to repeat what he said, he would fall asleep.  But, I did not remember his voice, unmasked by alcohol-induced brain damage.  I couldn’t remember how he sounded on the phone or when I last saw him in person.

With this dream, I got to remember the sound of voice and see him in one of favorite places in the house, his workbench.  He was surrounded by all the tools of his trade from the past 30+ years, as well as other tools, such as a chainsaw and car jacks.  It was this image from my dream and that brief moment of happiness that, for the briefest of moments, replaced the anger I have had building.  It helped replace the sorrow I have felt since the day my mom called to say that he was gone.  For the briefest moments, I was happy.  And, while I still harbor a lot of anger and resentment over what he did to himself and us, I still miss him.


From → Alcoholism

  1. I am so glad. It’s good to hear that you have the memory restored and great to see you writing about what’s happened. I’ve missed hearing from you!

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