A very quick chat

“You know it’s OK, right?” he asked.

I looked at him, perplexed, and he elaborated, “I don’t blame you; none of this was your fault.”

“But if I’d called when I was supposed to…” I tried to respond, but he interrupted me.

“No, it wouldn’t have made a difference.” Dad didn’t elaborate any further; that was his style, to use as few words as possible.

I went to hug him, but that still felt strange considering we had never done that before, so I stretched out my hand and he shook it. It was good to talk about this with him finally. I had other things I needed to discuss with him as well.

I was just about to ask him about the work he’d done on the car we were restoring when I heard it, that musical tone. I tried to shut it out, but it was futile, and I woke up. I stretched out my hand to turn off the alarm on my phone. I lay there for a few seconds, confused and disappointed.

It had been six months since Dad died, and I was struggling with a lot of things, not the least my guilt of not calling him the night before he died. I had meant to call him, but I’d been busy during the day and figured I’d call him later.

The next day, Mom rang to tell me that he’d had a massive heart attack and died. I was gutted for a few reasons, not the least was that we’d finally started to have a good relationship, and after nearly 49 years as father and son, that was a nice development.

That morning, I kept replaying the dream in my head. It had felt so real, well, except for the fact that Dad was saying so many words. Seriously, if he had a day where he didn’t have to say anything all day, he would have been in heaven.

So, the verbalized version of my father aside, everything else seemed so real. I kept replaying our conversation, the one that I never got to have. He acknowledged that I was busy, and he understood. I showed him that I felt bad, and his words made me realize that I didn’t need to.

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to finish the other conversations I didn’t get to have with him. I wanted to discuss everything related to the car, find out where he had stored the parts, what the plan was for the engine, and who I should ask for advice now that he was gone. I also wanted to ask him about all the things I had discovered about him while preparing his eulogy. I heard stories that I’d never heard before, and wished I’d known them before he died, because that would have made our relationship so much better.

I started to wonder if there was a way I could have another dream to talk to him again. I tried thinking about Dad before bed, but that just meant I was awake thinking about Dad. I tried to meditate before bed, but that just gave me a restful night’s sleep.

Finally, I spoke with Lisa, a dear friend who had lost her father many years ago. I told her about the dream and how sad it made me that I couldn’t talk to him anymore.

“You got an opportunity that not everyone does. You got that one last conversation”, Lisa said in her comforting tone. “Was it a real conversation? No, but did it send you a message?”

I looked a little confused, which admittedly isn’t that hard for me, and asked, “What message?”

Lisa smiled and replied, “You can forgive yourself and start to move on”.

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