Happy Birthday Dad

[smokingboot]

I can't work out whether it feels like a long time since his death or no time at all.

It is ironic that I wish him a happy birthday now when I spent years, possibly decades, forgetting it when he was alive. Maybe I am re-imagining him as a good guy when I am perfectly aware of the truth of it. Then again, no-one knows all the truth about anyone else. He grew old, he changed; his other daughter wouldn't have survived the tribulations of life with the unreconstructed dad I knew. But whether he changed for her sake or through the mellowing of time is anyone's guess.

Do I wonder where he is? A vanishing of atoms, a ghost child playing on a beach, a reincarnated lion cub scampering across the Savuti... Yes I wonder where he is. I don't wonder if he is.

I kind of hoped for a dream of him last night, but that's the thing about dreams; you never get the expected, if you do it's not a dream. I didn't see him then, but that just means he will pop into my head some other time. Last night, the dreams were not pink, though one of the main characters in it was a mate known for general redness. Last night it was about being involved with some kind of music group/festival thing, but it was all very vague.

Now I must phone Mum to remind her to let people in when they buzz on the gate to the flats; they have her Christmas gift from me today. I am expecting her to completely ignore them.