Admittedly, this is going to be a strange post. My life has been very strange, like a surreal nightmare. Something has happened lately and as I have been going over it in my mind I decided it was time to share some thoughts about it in this blog.
A few days ago I took a nap in the afternoon to catch up on some sleep because my sleep pattern has become irregular again. I will not go over what was in this dream but suffice it to say I revisited with some people I am still furious with and cannot ever really come to terms with. At the end of this dream I see the lower end of Manhattan. I realized soon after I awoke that I had some similar dreams in the last few years and these dreams take me to the island of Manhattan in all of them. I have this unusual feeling that I belong there, that I am a resident, or I am supposed to be there instead of where I am at the time.
As I have gone over that last dream in my head I realized that going to Manhattan takes me to my Dad and sorting out all that transpired between us over the years. In case you missed it in this blog, my Dad passed away on September 11, 2009. He called me September 11, 2001 to tell me about the plane crashes while I was still asleep. Lately, my thoughts have focused on many of the events we went through together. Despite the negative things I have mentioned about him in this continuing blog of my life there is the inescapable fact that my life and my Dad’s have always been closely intertwined even though he really had no idea who I really am.
By now my exact recollection of what really spelled the demise of our relationship is not as clear as I would like it to be, but I realize what happened should be shared even if a small number of people read it and learn from it.
After the phone call of June 30, 2006 took place I knew that my life would be going in a very bizarre direction. My relationship with my Dad, who was a shape-shifter of some variety that I still cannot completely explain, would be forever damaged. All of the things I had managed to ignore about him in the past would eventually accumulate into an unavoidable confrontation. How and when that would happen was unknown.
However, I could not completely sever my ties with him as he was still my closest confidant and we depended on each other for so many things. I knew I would not get very far without letting him know at least part of what was going on. The trip down the gauntlet I took from Las Vegas to Houston via Tuscon and El Paso would remain mostly a mystery to him. He really didn’t need to know much about that.
By the time I took the trip to San Diego to see what would happen I had begun to let him in on more of the details. There was so much to tell him and remind him of, and since he was the one person I turned to when things got beyond my ability to handle alone, it made sense that he should know the most of what was going on. After the two women switched places and the BMW drove off I had called him to let him know that I wasn’t going to chase much more and that “you know who” was losing me more and more with these Charades. I remember him telling me in so many words, that I had given it “another try” but it seemed like a good decision to return home right after that.
I don’t remember what day it was but about a month later I had called him again, as I still was doing on a regular basis, to let him know as much as I was letting him know. This is perhaps where our relationship really started to disintegrate because so much that was wrong was revealed. I have often avoided the subject of why my Dad did or did not do certain things; it’s very painful to me to reveal he was as selfish as he was, despite the many things I had done as his only really loyal child.
The conversation went something like this. I called him.
Ted: Hello? (I can tell he is eating when I call.)
Me: Hey, Dad it’s me.
Ted: Uh, I didn’t expect to hear from you.
Me: Dad, what are you talking about?
Ted: I mean I’m glad! I’m glad to hear from you!
Me: Dad? What are you saying? Did you think something had happened to me?
Roughly that is how that conversation started. I immediately come to the conclusion that he thought or was told that I had died or had been killed at least two or three days before I had called. That is obviously disturbing enough, even though as far as I know I never really indicated to him in any way that my life was at risk the way that it was. What really bothered me is that he had done nothing and was “stuffing his face” as usual. He had not called me to see if I was still there. He had not gone by my place to see if my car or anything of mine was still where I lived. He did not tell my sister, as far as I know, or call the police or anything like that. He did nothing. He just went about his normal routine. I wondered for a moment what would it take for him to finally do something? This was so extremely disturbing to me that I had to move on in the conversation right away because to follow that line of questioning would lead to the inevitable conclusion I reached just a few months later.
My Dad really didn’t care. He lived in his own little world and anything that didn’t belong in it would be discounted or rejected.