I dreamed about my dad last night. I do that much more occasionally now, but even so, even after–christ, what’s it been? 30 years?–even after all this time, it takes me a few minutes after I wake up to remember he’s dead. And I have to relive it all, just for a minute, the pain, the sadness, the loss. These dreams are bittersweet in a way though, because they are the only time I get to see my father anymore. For that very reason, I’m not sure if I would give them up, even if I do have to relive his loss all over in the morning.
This time I also dreamed about my brother. In an odd twist, I dreamed I was talking to my dad, trying to convince him that my brother wasn’t dead, and that I’d spoken to him and that we were all going to go camping together. It’s the camping part that clued me in as to why I was dreaming of my dad, though. There’s a new guy that I’ve been talking to on OKC that used to live in Oregon. For some reason talking to him got me thinking about driving the PCH with my dad when I was younger and camping in the back of his old Chevy pickup at Half Moon Bay and farther up the coast. In my dream I was trying to talk my dad into taking the drive again so we could meet my brother, who used to live on the Northern California coast, in Humboldt County. It’s odd to miss a brother that I never really knew, but I woke up missing him as well as my father.
And missing the rocky California coastline, the trees, the gray, choppy water, the fog. My daughter mentioned in a FB post that she wants to visit CA to “visit her roots.” Such an odd sentiment to me. I feel rootless most of the time, and though I long for the coast, it has nothing to do with feeling like it’s home. Still, perhaps I could take her there, on that same drive that my dad and I took during the summers of my childhood.