Is it our duty to hang on?
Somewhere in my dreams was Dad. But last night he was hidden. Or maybe my memory of him is already fading and he simply didn’t feature.
Part of me thinks that Dad is still around – that he’s okay. Part of me thinks that death is a smaller part of something much bigger and that I’ll see him again. Part of me is confused. Part of me wants to hang on – another part wants to move on. None of me is clear about this.
Losing Dad is like losing your local police force. Your internal society now has no law enforcement. There are rules and regulations, but you can now break the law. There is no punishment. It’s entirely your choice. I’m not saying that my father was a big stick, but there’s something in this.
Psychology says that we internalise our mothers and fathers. We hear their shrill voices when we do something wrong. “Don’t do that,” “get your feet of the table,” “put something on.” When a parent dies – this voice dies too. My inner patriarch now says, “why not do it?,” “put your feet on the table” and “wear whatever you fancy.” He’s as good as completely gone.
I’m very sad that Dad has gone. But we all go. And if there’s something beyond death (none of us really know for sure) – then maybe we’ll all get to see each other again. Beyond the great taboo.
