Day 87

Dad never went directly into the water. He always need to let his body adjust slowly to the temperature. He’d walk up to the edge and stick his feet in. Then he’d inch his way into the bay, until he got about waist high. He’d lean back, fall into the water’s chilly embrace, and let it wash over him. 

Last night, I didn’t dream about Dad. I dreamt about Libby. She died twenty-two years ago, and it was only the third time she appeared in a dream. We were rooming together in New York City (not a surprise since we were roommates for two years at NYU). But I hadn’t been to the room in a long time and I had forgotten which room was ours. As I approached the building (it wasn’t the dorm we actually lived in but a more modern structure) I started to panic. I should know where I lived, but I didn’t. So I called Libby on my smartphone (which should have been weird considering she died before either of us every had a cell phone, but in the dream it felt totally natural) but she didn’t answer. I called several times, each time the call ended without anyone picking up, not even the voicemail. In frustration, I sent her a text asking where I was supposed to go. The response came immediately — 720. The dream then shifted. I walked into the lobby and it was huge, and completely made of glass. There were windows and mirrors everywhere. My son’s Cub Scout Den was there and they were participating in some sort of lesson. There was broken glass all around. Somehow, I got a splinter of glass in my lip. I pulled it out and woke up.

I spent the entire morning mowing the grass. Mom won’t get me a push mower. And she told me I’m not allowed to get one for myself. It would take up too much room. I argued that I’d get rid of the other mower, but she won’t have it. She says a push mower would be more work. I’m totally fine with that. I’d rather have to work harder and be able to labor is silence. She ended the debate with “Your father wanted this mower, and this is the mower we have. He didn’t want a push mower.” I wanted to point out that he’s not here which is why the work fell to me, and since I was doing it happily, I should be able to choose my own tools, but I knew better. It would have made her sad. And so I suffered through the noise, though by the time I was done, I was shaking from it. 

After the lawn, I had to call the wineries to cancel Dad’s wine club memberships. Calling Osprey was the hardest. He loved going there around his birthday to buy wine with his birthday discount. He’d walk out of the tasting room with three, four, sometimes five cases of wine. And he’d always buy a few bottles for me to take up to Cape Cod. It made him so excited, stocking up for the year. Remembering his excitement made me cry.

Mom won’t go to the beach. It’s too sad being there without Dad. My son and I went to the sound, but ten minutes after we got there he told me he was bored. He didn’t like reading on the beach any more. The water was too cold to swim. And “I’m getting too old to have fun with you. I’m at that age where I just want to be with my friends.” Oh well! It was fun while it lasted.

For dinner we had one of Dad’s favorite meals — marinated shrimp on the barbecue. It’s one of my favorite meals, too. And I ate enough for me and Dad. Considering, I’m the one who did the grilling this time, the food came out pretty good. But without Dad sitting with us, it just didn’t taste right. Mom keeps pulling four dishes out of the cabinet every time she goest to set the table. It’s hard, after years of conditioning, to realize you need one less.

After we ate, my son wanted to take the dogs for a sunset walk on the beach. It was cloudy, so it wasn’t one of the more picturesque sunsets I’ve seen. But I did enjoy the time with my son, especially since he told me earlier he was getting too old for me.