Him

I never came to terms with his death. It was so sudden, fast and without much fuss. By many accounts, it is a preferable way of dying. 

I wasn't even there. Actually, by the time  I personally comprehended the possibility of him dying, he was gone. Didn't make it to the funeral either. To fast, to far, to expensive, to late… 

Wasn't there when he needed me, really needed me; now that he is lying dead in the coffin in the middle of the living room… Well now he doesn't need me there for sure. The others, they can go and fuck themselves. 

As for my mother, I should have been there for her. But I wasn't. I let her down. I broke her heart. Without her even realising it happened. 

When my father died, we didn't grief. We were, and still are, thousands of kilometres away. To be even more precise, I am always half a day ahead. It is hard to keep track of someone's  life when you are always a day ahead in the week. Somehow, my past is her future. Funny, isn't it?

Time is passing by. Sometimes faster, sometimes slower. But it's moving constantly. 

It has been a couple of years now. I have seemingly recovered and moved on. The only thing is that I do wake up in the middle of the night and can't go back to sleep again. Usually I wake up at the official time of his death. And I dream of him a lot. And I do mean a lot. At least three of four times a week. Of course, I am fully aware, it is only my consciousness and subconscious and all other shit from my life, that it is playing tricks on me and causing me to deliberately suffer from absolutely nothing. 

And, as I already said, time is passing by, life is moving on and things are running smoothly, more or less. 

Until a couple of weeks ago. Something happened that changed everything. For worse I might add. I was walking to a train station in the city on my way home from work. And just behind the corner of the `Big size fashion` shop, where I am supposed to turn left, he was standing there, looking straight at me, and smiling his smirky smile, from so many long and productive discussions that we used to have about everything and anything.

Yes, you heard me right, my dead father was standing there in the middle of the very busy street and smiling like he was just waiting for me to show up finally so that he can win the discussion of a brand new argument over a cup of the strongest coffee available. 

I, I haven't even slowed down. I walked by past him like he wasn`t even there at all. While I was passing by, I felt his look on me and felt his surprise. Nevertheless, I left the scene like it never happened. The entire time my brain was on fire, my palms were sweating, and I felt like someone was literally holding my neck tight and choking me. It couldn't be him. He is dead. It is just somebody who looks like him or someone who wanted to either ask for some donation or to give me some propaganda material.

An Inner panic attack passed few minutes later when I walked on the station and automatically checked when my next train is. Gone from the mind instantly. 

Next day he was there again. Same look, same smile, same body language. I walked by again but this time I turned around and had a second look on the man. Yes, it's like he was my fathers twin brother. Creepy, right? Forgot all about it again. Until the third day came. And forth, as well, and he was there. My dead father. restlessnes increased within me. Of course I haven`t shared these events with anyone! What I did is, I changed my route of walking to the station. On the fifth day, I felt so empowered walking different streets with my headphones on and my music blasting loudly. Mood was so good that I felt like I owned the world. And then in the crowd of people going in all directions. One late afternoon, I saw him again. Sticking his head out of the crowd and scanning all faces like he is looking for someone. Of course it was me he was looking for. Because when he saw me, he gave me the same smile. I was so shocked that I just stopped in my tracks and stood there looking at him in complete disbelief. I was totally frozen when he came near me and stood in front of me directly. He smiled again and tried to reach for me with his arms, like he was going to hug me. That's when I started running. I kept bumping into people on my run but I haven't even yelled sorry back to them. I just run and run.

I am still trying to decide if  this is some kind of stocking? Should I talk to the police about this? Haven't talked to my family about this. Unsure of the reason. Maybe because I also somehow think that all this is ridiculous. Anyhow, the decision has been made to stay home for the next couple of days. So I haven't got to work or shop or walk or park or anywhere. I just stayed indoors for a while and I felt a little better. The old "out of sight out of mind" worked like a charm. I must confess that I felt a bit anxious going back to work. There are two possible ways to get there and my dead father found me on both of them. But this time he hasn't been there. All previous encounters were discarded as a freak coincidences and life moved on. You know, strangelly, all that time I had no trouble sleeping. Not any bad or good dreams about him. No more waking up in the middle of the night and not going back to sleep. Nothing. Finally, I got much needed rest. Things looked good.

But then he started popping up almost everywhere. In grocery stores, random streets, post Office, work place, park. Everywhere!

Encounters increased to a couple of sighthings a day. No matter the place, no matter the time. 

Last Thursday, I sat on the train waiting for departure when someone sat on the seat next to me in the almost empty train. That was quite unusual so I wanted to have a look at the person that needs company that badly. You can imagine my surprise when I saw my father's smile and face and eyes looking at me. And then his smile softened and he talked to me for the first time. He said: We need to talk. When I heard his voice, I was so scared that I jumped off my seat over him and out of the train. Can't remember exactly where I ran, but shortly after my jump sprint everything turned black.

I woke up in the hospital where they told me that I fell off the platform and that I was very lucky that the incoming train was going very slow and that the driver was able to stop on time not to crush me. 

So, as you can clearly see, I do not understand any of this. I was just trying to get away from my dead father. I have not tried to kill myself, doctor, and there is no reason to keep me tied for the bed. 

Anybody would do the same, right?!?