Lately I’ve had this uncontrollable rage over the fact that I can’t, and will never again, be able to talk to my father.
I keep talking about how unfathomable is that he’s not here. That I still believe one day he’ll come back, that this emptiness and distance is not permanent. And then I dream. I dream that he is back, and I hug him so tight knowing never to let go. That for only a brief moment I can touch him, FEEL him, hear his voice. It seems so cruel these dreams. I wake up in a rage that I can’t. I can’t ever get another hug, or see his baby blues, hear him call me “bunny”, or argue with him about the state of tourism on our dismal island.
That I will never again tell him that I love him, that I will never hear that from him either.
It just seems IMPOSSIBLE that that’s true.
Will I ever believe it?