It was his constant admonition..
“How are you going to manage when I am no longer there”?
“Parents are supposed to come with a lifetime warranty”, I would retort, all the while grinning at him with the innocence of the devil. I was the love of his life, and I had him tightly wrapped around my little finger. Wishes were suggestions. Opinions were instructions. Wants were needs. That’s just the way it was. That’s just the way it is.
He still talks to me, and not just in dreams. I have what I like to fancifully call “A Beautiful Mind”. My dreams are very logical. The other night mum and I were deciding on what to do, when he came along to give us his opinion. I looked at him and said – your dead. You can’t be giving us your opinion. This can’t be true. And then I sat down on the stone steps of some very medieval looking ruins and cried. I cried in my dream because I knew that I was in a dream. I cried because I knew that I would have to wake up. I cried because it could have been a lovely dream had my logical mind not interjected.
It’s not like I hear him all the time. Grief has not driven me insane. Just sometimes. Because he knows that daddies must always always watch over their baby girls.
He calls to me when I’m napping cause I have nothing to do and no one to insist that I adhere to a schedule. It’s his sharp whip call, the call that means “young lady, get off your butt and get to work”. When I’m adrift in the sea of memories, he uses his gentle voice. The voice that promises to always be my anchor no matter how high the tide or how choppy the waters. When my body is in stasis, when my thoughts are in a fog, when words and numbers swim in front of my eyes, there’s a sudden nudge and an oft repeated chant. If it has to be done, it has to be done. How many times do I have to tell you, use your common sense.
So now I’m using my common sense and I’m wondering… Did you go make a deal? Did you insist that the warranty has to be in place?
Perhaps it’s some extension of the space time continuum. Perhaps he moved to purgatory on his plane, and I moved to purgatory on mine, and somehow by the sheer will of love, he created some invisible connection from his plane to mine. I hear him whisper through that line, his voice a security blanket that wraps around me with a promise that I will never be weak because I will never be alone. I feel the current coming through to illuminate the dungeons my mind creates. And when the memories sucker punch me so hard that my insides collapse upon themselves and I am unable to draw my next breath, like some scene from a Harry Potter novel, his ghost comes through as my own guardian Patronus, keeping all the dementors and death eaters at bay.
“Parents must to come with a lifetime warranty”.
Thus have I spoken, thus it must be done.