I dreamt that we were sitting on a beach somewhere like we had so many times before.
I watch as you stare at the ocean waves in silence for a long time, trying to reacquaint myself with your facial features that I’m too afraid to admit I’ve almost forgotten.
Your blonde hair is uncharacteristically disheveled due to the breeze. Your kind green eyes—my eyes—sparkle in the sunlight. Dark freckles and splotches paint your cheeks from many years in the sun. Your proudly shaped nose inhales and exhales as it should be outside of this dream. A soft smile of peace is on your lips from being able to just sit here on the beach, your favorite place, without a worry in the world.
Suddenly, I blurt out, “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever learn to treat everything like it’s the last time. I hope too much for the future and grieve too much for the past that I can never seem to find myself here in the present.”
Your smile falters, and you turn to look at me.
When our eyes meet, I feel my heart shatter into a million pieces all over again.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” you respond quietly.
And I know that you aren’t just saying that because you have nothing else to say. As a simple, straightforward, logical-minded man, you mean it. I’ve always envied that mind and how different it was compared to mine.
I shrug and sigh, looking out over the waves. “I’m just tired of feeling empty and longing for things that I’ll never have—”, I pause as memories of you come flooding back in, “—or things that I’ve had and will never get back.”
Your soft smile returns. “I know. But you can always tell yourself that tomorrow will be better. And if it’s not, remember to tell yourself again.”
It was my turn to look at you. And I find myself feeling not quite as empty as before.
I smile back. “Do you miss me as much as I miss you?”
You roll your eyes as if that were the silliest question in the entire world. “Of course I do.”
I laugh. “Good. Because it’s unbearably lonely to look for you in every person and place and moment all of the time just to end up realizing that I’ll never be able to find you in the same way ever again.”
You’re quiet for a long time. I can’t tell what thoughts may be racing through your mind, if any.
That’s when I feel the dream start to slip away.
Finally, you ask, your voice quivering with emotion, “You look for me?”
As the beach and your face and the warmth of your presence begin to fade, I hear myself whisper in response, “I’m always looking for you.”
Today’s prompt comes from my own thoughts and feelings. Each of these letters to my dad are written candidly; unedited and unfiltered.
My husband of more than fifty years died at the end of last year. I am blessed to have our four children and four grandchildren within driving distance. I have some wonderful caring friends too. But the gap his dying has left behind is huge and, as we all mourn differently, people’s words and memories are very different. And our triggers are too.
In your letter to your Dad #8 (I have only just come across you so I’ve missed the others) you have opened a doorway to show me how to communicate my feelings without being judged but rather being given the opportunity to be myself; free to be real without offending anyone.
Thank you so much. Having subscribed, I look forward to reading more of your insightful work.
Best wishes, Jude.
Thank you so much for sharing, Jude! I’m so glad to have you here.