Filed under: Personal Minutiae | Tags: dreams, grief, memento mori, nightmares
I sit at a table with my mother, my wife, my father and his friend. For some reason my father and his friend are wearing oddly-colored windbreakers. They are getting ready to go somewhere. Since my father should be dead and this is not the first time he forgot, I figure I better tell him. At a break in conversation I lean in and say, “You know you died, right?” He looks confused. “You know what happened on (date), right? I mean, you are not alive. You probably shouldn’t be here.” I realize instantly that I’m being rude, and turn to my wife and mother for a rescue. They look confused, like they don’t have any clue what’s going on. And then it hits me. “You don’t even see him, do you?” They give me a look like families give Alzheimer patients who can’t remember their names any more. Some combination of realization, deep sorrow, and pity. But mostly pity. Then everything is fading. I know it’s a dream. I am awake. I still feel bad for being rude.
