Or, more aptly, For My Father
Good evening, dear reader.
Have you ever had one of those days during which a single question constantly recurs, “Why did I get out of bed today?” Today was one of those days; it would have been better had I just slept through it. Of course, sleep was a large part of my problem. In the wee hours of this morning, I awoke sobbing. I had been trapped in an all-to-real dream that kept me raw and shaken throughout the day. I’m hoping that writing about it, and why I have reacted so strongly to it, will help. This will likely be the single most personal entry I have written in this blog, so if you’re not in the mood for that kind of emotion, I suggest you move on.
I won’t go into too much detail about the dream – partly because I’m still trying to distance myself from the particulars – but I will give you the main point. In this dream, I lost my father to a heart attack. I was there when it happened, and – again – I could do nothing to stop it. Now, keep in mind, my father is quite well, currently enjoying a road trip with my mother to visit friends, and looks much younger than his years. I don’t believe the dream to be a premonition of any kind. Of course, once I awoke and realized I had been dreaming, it didn’t stop me from picking up the phone in the middle of the night to make sure that everything was alright.
So, you ask, and justifiably so, why is this obvious figment of my imagination still haunting me? Why can I not let it go? Perhaps because it has reminded me of how close I have come to committing one of those tragic errors in which stubborn men refuse to verbalize their emotions regarding one another. It has reminded me of things left unsaid and actions left undone for no reason.
Sure, we allow false reasons to build up in our minds. I allow the dozens of things about which we disagree (some big, some small – all made larger than they should be by my pride) to interfere, to cloud my judgment, to form – on occasion – the seeds of resentment. But who doesn’t disagree in one affair or another with a parent? I am thirty-two years old, and still have both my parents to call upon in my times of need. How fortunate am I? How selfish – and foolish - am I to take this for granted?
You see, dear reader, my father is my Superman. He always has been, and he always will be. He has more integrity and honor than any person I have ever met. And at times, I think I have hated him for it. I remember the times that I knew he could make my troubles go away – troubles I had inflicted upon myself through my own arrogance and foolishness – but he refused. At times like that, I could not see that he was forcing me to grow. To become someone better than who I was. I only felt my own short-sighted pain, and I resented his inaction.
But I have never thanked him for making those choices, which must have been unimaginably more difficult than I had ever considered.
My father has never wavered – to my knowledge – when standing up for what he believes. He is a man of conviction whose equal I am not likely to ever meet again. And on many of those convictions, we disagree. Yet in seeing him stand up for his, I have learned how to stand up for my own.
But for that lesson, I have never thanked him.
My father is often a man of few words, but those he chooses he does so wisely. This is a lesson I have not yet mastered, though I have seen it demonstrated so many times.
Don’t misunderstand me. There’s a bit of Clark Kent in there, too. I have seen moments of doubt, and of frailty, and of fear. But they were never moments of self-doubt, nor personal frailty, nor fear for himself. I have seen doubt furrow his brow when faced with the uncertain future of a dying son. I have seen the failty of his stalwart visage in the face of my pain. I have seen the ache in his eyes and his heart when he feared for my life as I lay in a hospital bed.
But for opening himself as he has done, for sharing his fear and doubt, for showing the me the man he is inside, I have never thanked him.
This is a mistake I can no longer bear to repeat.
Dad, for all these things, and so, so much more, thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
I love you.
Until next time, dear reader, take care of each other. And do not leave unspoken those things you cannot bear to remain silent for eternity.
