I woke up abruptly from an afternoon dream and was struck by the permanence of death. Again. This realization seems to be hopelessly attempting to penetrate my core belief system, diving at it over and over, relentlessly, yet being deflected by the hope in something more. The hope that in the end there is really not an end.
No. That’s not it. The permanence of death is not in the theoretical or metaphysical. It is in the pain that transcends words, even the words I am attempting to write. It takes the living (and loving) into an uneasy space that is beyond the emotions we assign to the business of each day.
Actually, it is far more simple. I miss my dad. He died in 2006, the night before Halloween. I was not almost 50. I did not have 3 kids. I was barely beginning to know who I was in this world, but maybe he could see glimpses of her, just as I have to believe I see glimpses into my own children’s true selves. I was so incredibly different and, yet, very much the same as I am now.
And today he entered my dreams, solidly and completely, as much as dreams can possibly be. And I don’t have the words to convey how it feels–so you would think that I wouldn’t try to write about it. But I do know this emotion that transcends any label I’ve ever encountered is instantly familiar to anyone who knows loss. It is membership into a club that, I guess, we are all supposed to enter, presuming that the natural order goes as it is intended.
I know that this Slice, this writing, this understanding about death and pain and permanence, is incomplete. But it is late and the month long challenge is almost over. So I guess it is an indication to me that, with more to say, the writing will continue beyond tomorrow.