I had a dream. Normally I don't think much of my dreams or really remember them. This dream was different though. It was real. Or at least it felt real. I guess it was my subconscious trying to say something. Now I'm left trying to figure it all out.
As most people know, my father and I don't have much of a relationship. I can't tell you the last time we talked and it's been ten years since I've seen him. Normally it doesn't bother me. Most times it doesn't even cross my mind. Is that bad? Maybe. It's the truth though. I've spent so much of my life hating this man, building a wall up to keep whatever emotions I may feel about him, out. I've spent so much of my life blaming him. Blaming him for the way everything turned out. Hating him for the way he treated not just my mother, but any woman he's ever been with. I've spent most of my time questioning why I was never enough for him, for him to be a better man. To want to be a better man. That's left me full of hatred and resentment. And although I'll tell you I've forgiven and moved on with my life. I think I may be lying.
I had a dream that I got a phone call from my grandmother (my dad's mom) telling me my father had died. My reaction? I was frozen. Frozen in time. Although this was all a dream and to the best of my knowledge he's still alive, it hit me. It hit me hard. I was blindsided. Now I sit here, trying to figure out just exactly how this dream made me feel. Truth is, I was sad. I was sad and I was scared. I was also hurt and angry.
As much as I say I don't care that he's not in my life, I think I do. I think I always have. I spent many days telling myself "It's him missing out, not me" to make myself feel better about the situation, but I never once believed it. Who was I kidding? We were both missing out. Tremendously I missed out on having a real relationship with my biological father and he missed out on knowing his daughter. Knowing his grandkids. Knowing my husband. Knowing my life. We both lost at this. Not just him, like I use to tell myself. And for what?
He wasn't a great father, no. He wasn't a great husband, no. He wasn't even a great person. He's my father though, and as much as I consider John my father, this guy I spent my whole life hating, is MY father. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be here. If my life hadn't played out the way it did, I wouldn't be where I am today. I have to stop, and I have to thank him. I have to move on and forgive him. Maybe not for him, but for myself.
I don't want to wake up one day and receive the call I got in my dream and have to look in the mirror and ask myself why I let all this anger get in the way of what could have potentially been a good relationship. I'm scared though. I'm scared to get hurt. I'm scared to let this man in. I want to move on though. I have too.
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