Death of My Father
I was one of those troubled teens. Grade school was a Catholic school, & we had moved to Comstock Park when I entered high school. One year later, we moved to the Forest Hills school district. Our family may have moved up to the middle class, but I was unprepared for the social skills, and ended up...well let's just say I ended up hanging with and becoming a high school dropout, with legal troubles just starting.
Somehow, the solution decided on was to have me move to Lansing, and move in temporarily with my oldest sister and her husband & family. I lived there a year, went through a couple go-nowhere jobs, then enlisted in the Air Force. My brother in law had said he figured my father would be proud of me enlisting, and it seemed a good path forward.
My father's face, however, when I told him my plans, was not the pride I was hoping for. I sensed disappointment instead. I had been at odds with him for a couple years at that point, so my own emotions were confused. I had made up my mind about enlisting, but I really had hoped for a different reaction.
Five weeks into basic training, I had a dream. More of a vision, really, of my father. The colors and vision were dynamic, moreso than any dream I had ever had or have had since. I could still bring back the memory years later, yet at the time I chocked it up to my feelings about his reaction to my enlistment. That morning, our drill instructor called me in, and said I needed to report to the Red Cross.
During that walk, I flashed through what could have happened. I have 6 sisters and a brother, and I envisioned each of them one at a time wondering if there had been an accident. I never even considered there could be a problem with my parents. For some reason, even though my father had a heart attack 8 years earlier, it never crossed my mind that one of my parents would be the reason for that trip.
My father had another heart attack that night. I remember my DI telling me I could still graduate with my squad if I was back by that Wednesday (I did), but that week was a blur. I flew home for the funeral, & continued on but that loss, at the time that it happened, affected the rest of my life deeply. I never got to know my father, as an adult, but in a strange way I got to know him deeper. His life, raising his family, doing his utter best to make sure we all became who we became. He was completely committed to his family.
I dream. I've had recurring dreams that had meanings I have been able to interpret. But I never had before, nor since, had a dream with my father in it. I don't know why, because he is most responsible for crafting me into the person I turned into. I believe he came to each of us children that night. I think he was letting us know that he was proud of us. He was letting me know he was proud of me.
In his death, he gave me purpose. I lived determined to live up to his vision for me, even though I never really knew what that was. Somehow, though, I feel he has guided me to be who I am. His favorite poet, Edgar Guest, became my favorite poet. I found out much later he had attended seminary for 2 years. My biggest struggle was sorting out my faith. I had left the church, never to return. Yet I feel he would approve of where my faith ended up. Each of us siblings have raised our own families, and we are all proud of each of our children...who are now raising their own families. His influence living on.
I can see it now, looking back as a man who is older than he was when he passed.
