Death becomes him

img_3649Last night I watched my dad die again.  I relive the same event several times a month via dreams.  I see him laying on the floor in his office, my mom panicked over the top of him and my brother struggling to get to him.  I’m at the end of the long hallway and I’m screaming dad, as I run but I can never seem to reach him.  It always ends the same.  He dies, and then he comes back to tell me to stop watching him die.  I can’t.  I don’t know how.  It’s carved into my memory.  It’s hard to go to sleep at night, out of fear of how I’ll awake.  My dad was stronger than the Incredible Hulk, smarter than Iron Man, and he could beat Chuck Norris up all while painting his toe nails with me as we listened to Britney Spears.  The trauma of finding my hero wounded and dying has not left me even after 6 years.  My dreams have become the only place I can meet him, where I seek counsel and guidance….  If only that sweet reunion would end in a peaceful goodbye.