Today is the day my father died: July 6 1988. More than three decades ago. His death, at age sixty-five, both devastated and liberated me. He was a powerful man in life and remains so in death.
I had a haunting dream last night, the first vividly remembered dream in many months, about seeing a man I once loved desperately (and in the dream still did) with someone else — a good friend of mine, though not someone I could identify from my life, as I could him. It was clear they were lovers. In the dream I realized that once again, I was rejected, inadequate, unlovable to a man, and also betrayed by a friend. Woke up feeling lost and sad. No idea if the dream had anything to do with the date. Dad and I had fixed what was wrong between us, but there’d been harm.
It’s a rose-breasted grosbeak singing to me right now, according to the app, though I’ve not seen it. The sweetness of the garden wafts in. Thank you for all you gave, Dad, to the world, to Canada, to science, to me especially. You are missed.
2 Responses to “remembering my father”
Your older grandson looks very much like your father? His smile…
Yes, in some photos of Dad as a boy, he looks just like Eli, it's uncanny. And very moving. The first time I noticed – Eli turned around, aged five, and there was my father – I nearly burst into tears. Dad would be so pleased.