I’m with Dad and he’s preparing me to be without him. We’re in a house that feels more like a condominium. It’s nothing I recognize.
Dad pours a collection of cheeses, crackers, snack packs and lunch meats out on the bed and indicates that I should take whatever I want. I look through the pile, noting that all of our orange cups are gone. Later I find most of them in his closet.
I retreat to the kitchen to cook some food. Soon he comes in and gives me a long sleeved dress shirt. It’s blue with thin, green stripes and he tells me ‘This will fit you.’ Then he indicates that we’ll need to tear it a little and tie it to a weight belt so I’ll have it later in life, when I’m taking working out more seriously.
He is gone now. I sit before large pictures and murals of him on the wall, thinking how big he is.
The house is empty. I am all alone.
The pre-dawn darkness brings me nothing but pain and sadness as I begin another day of hurting. As has become habit, I wake up earlier than I care to, before anyone else, and I sit in the dark on the edge of the tub trying to separate dream from reality. It’s a double dose of despair today; though my dream was sad in its own rite, more depressing is waking up and realizing I’ve entered another day without him. Another day like the rest of my life.