Dreams of my Father

A few nights ago I had a dream with my dad. It had been a while since he visited me during my slumbers. It was a pretty funny interaction too. I woke up with a smile on my face because it was so realistic of how he was.

For some reason in the dream I worked in a small office. It seemed like a doctor’s office – at least it was nothing like the offices where I’ve worked in my recent experience. He came by to fix the window in the office and had finished his task. It was 2:30 in the dream and he stopped by my desk and asked if I could go home yet. I told him that I still had a lot of work to do. So he said he would stick around and go take a nap.

He walked away and came back a few minutes later and asked me where the chair he liked to recline in was. I told him that the bosses had gotten rid of it. To which he replied “Idiots!” He then proceeded to go back to the area where he commenced with his nap.

I wasn’t sure what the dream meant or why all of a sudden my dad was visiting again. It was a very pleasant surprise. It reminded me of some of the other dreams I had of him when he first passed away. 

I had one dream where he was sitting in a hospital bed and he had put on weight. He was eating a dish of edamame and he picked up one of the pods and looked at it as if he had never seen it before. He then proceeded to eat it and made a ‘humpf’ sound to signify that he liked it. 

A few days later I had a dream that he, my husband and I were walking down the street. We came upon a man who was selling gallons of olive oil for 11 dollars. When my dad saw the price, he stopped and told the guy he wanted to buy all the olive oil he had. He turned to us to tell us that "11 bucks for olive oil is a great price.” 

It’s funny that I remember these things about my dad and that they are manifested in my dreams in the way they are. This last dream put a smile on my face which is something I need to keep remembering to do when I think of my dad.

The Pedestal

Since my dad passed away I have been focusing on the good memories and nice qualities that he had. It has made it hard at times to come to terms with his loss. But it has reminded me of what a good person he was.

My dad enjoyed his wine and cigarettes immensely. Almost nothing anyone could say would make him stop drinking and smoking. Ultimately the long term use of both things is what led to his demise. Although I accepted his vices for a long time because there was no way for me to make him change, I was reminded of how angry I was with his usage recently and it put my relationship with my dad in a different perspective.

At his funeral so many people said nice things about my dad and they were sincerely appreciated. Occasionally people mentioned how much they respected him because he lived his life the way he wanted. And yes, he did but to the detriment of his health and to my family. Looking back at it now, I realize how incredibly selfish he was to continue to drink and smoke despite the impacts it had on his health and on all of us. 

Some cultures believe that it’s not appropriate or manly for a man to talk about his problems. You have to bottle them up and try to escape your issues via drinking or smoking. This kind of thinking annoys the living crap out of me because there is no value in this type of behavior. No matter how much you drown your miseries or smoke them off your chest, they remain there on a daily basis. They need to be confronted and dealt with. My dad sought peace in his glass and his cigarette instead of letting it out. In the long run his behavior hurt him. No matter how many times I approached him about his vices, he told me to mind my business. I told him on numerous occasions that his health was my business because what he did affected me and everyone else. But he continued to do it with no regard of what it meant or did to me or anyone else, especially not himself. 

Recently my father-in-law came to visit and he also has a problem with alcohol. This is not something I particularly like about him because it shows weakness in his character and I can’t respect it. Due to his alcoholism, he had an accident that put him in the hospital. This made me upset for many reasons which included:

1)      My being pregnant calls for a reduction in stress where his accident only increased my stress

2)      My tolerance of people trying to kill themselves is very low in general and even more due to my dad’s passing being only a few months ago

3)      The fact that he was supposed to ‘help out’ while he was here and I saw nothing of that

4)      As usual I had to fend for myself and take care of myself when what I needed most were people to help me out. In the long run, I proved to myself again that I can take care of myself a lot better than anyone else can. And I’m lucky to be able to do that when so many others can’t. 

I won’t delve into the other reasons or emotions that this accident provoked in me because they have to do with issues that my husband and his family need to deal with. What made me most upset was how my father-in-law’s behavior re-opened a wound that I thought was healing with regards to my dad. Just as I was starting to feel better about losing him, I was reminded of how angry and pissed off he would make me. I had to remember those bad things about my dad when I had tried so hard to bury them. I recalled the myriad times that I wanted to take my dad to the side and beat the crap out of him for his crappy behavior. And even now when I can’t do it anymore, I am still so angry at him for leaving me and my family. Even though I know nothing can be done about it, I hate that I will never have the satisfaction of saying to him “I was right about your behavior and you never listened to me.” And I hate that he won’t be around to meet and spend time with my baby. I know it’s selfish and immature of me to say all this about him but it’s how I feel and it needs to be said. I do not bottle up my feelings like my dad and I don’t turn to the bottle or the cigarettes to avoid my problems like he did. And as I cry about all of this and I miss him, I remember that sometimes we have to take the people we love off their pedestal.

The Unknown

I am a very inquisitive person. You can ask my husband how annoying I can be when I have a list of questions I want answered. My job is to listen to people, see what they want and ask a lot of questions. Part of my curiosity about everything is quenched by asking questions. I have never been very satisfied with situations where an answer can’t be provided. 

The hardest part of losing someone is that you never really know where they are. Faith can give you answers. Despite all that faith, it’s not a concrete answer. It’s not visual or physical proof of where the person is. And I have always had my issues with faith, partly because it never provides the answers that I find satisfying.

The piece of losing my father that I grapple with on a consistent basis is the not knowing where he is and what he is doing. Is he really in a better place? Is he enjoying this time away from us? Although I can understand that he’s no longer suffering because he’s not in the physical realm, I wish I knew if he is better off. 

Occasionally I hope for a dream or some other sign from him where he tells me he is doing well. I feel as though I have had a few dreams where he was trying to ‘tell’ me something. And I have taken those dreams as something reassuring. However there are times when I wonder how concrete are dreams  if we sometimes forget what we dream. 

I know I should let it go and be more open to the mysteries of ‘the other world’ but I find it hard especially because I can’t ask anyone who has been there for insight. Yes, my stubbornness is posing this problem but I guess the apple didn’t fall very far from the tree.

Feast of the Goat

Easter came and went this year in a sad fashion. It came only a few weeks after my dad’s passing. This alone was enough to bear. But it was also his favorite holiday for a number of reasons. He liked it because on Palm Sunday, he’d collect the palms and make crucifixes out of them to place in our houses and in the car. He especially liked Easter because it was a chance to have some food he normally wouldn’t have during the year.

His preference was goat. In recent years, I tried to make lamb which was more symbolic to me. But goat was always his first choice as that’s what was traditional in Italy. The last few years I did make goat to please him and also because I like it too.

Growing up though, I didn’t have such fond feelings for the horned creature. For years on Good Friday my dad would make a trip to the Bronx and get goat meat he ordered at his favorite butcher. Within the days before Easter, I’d open the fridge to find the skull of a goat staring at me while it was soaking in water. Without fail, I’d scream and close the fridge door as if my life depended on it. Year after year this would happen.

My dad was raised in Italy during World War 2 and you ate every single part of an animal that was slaughtered. His favorite part of the goat was the brain. So I would have to bear this hideous vision every year. After seeing the goat head in the fridge, I’d have to beg my mom or my siblings to get stuff out of the fridge for me until Easter morning.

Despite this gross object in my sight, I’d eat the meat for Easter lunch/dinner. I could separate the two somehow. My sister, on the other hand, couldn’t bear to eat the meat.

This year I decided to go to my dad’s butcher where my mom and I bought his beloved goat meat. It felt right to honor him in this small way. The butcher chopped up a half portion goat for us and we took the meat, paid and left. When we got home, my husband put the meat in the fridge.

Easter Sunday, I took the meat out of the fridge and opened the package. Of course there was a head in the package. Instead of scaring me as it has done so many other years in my life, all I could do was cry. I would have done anything to have my dad there at the table enjoying his goat head.

It is these little things that make it difficult to move on. Despite all my efforts, these details rear their heads (pun intended) and remind me how much I miss my dad.