My heart cracks. An unbearable weight of grief clenches it, my breath grows heavy and shallow and I struggle and gasp for air. My heart folds on itself in my chest. And, I am yearning for my father.
For! all the things I would give to have him back with me, no, not just his 'felt presence', no, not just his memories buried some distant place in me, no, not just his image around my house. No, I want him, his corporal and human self, complete and unmarred by age and disease. I want to hear him talk, I want the sound of his sound touch the very nerves of my ears, I want to hear the person that he was. I want to have him in peripheral vision, in my direct sight, in front of my eyes. I want him to be the way I have always known him to be.
I have a problem. I have a serious issue with accepting what is. I refuse to believe what is, for how can we be sure that whatever we are communicated through our senses is 'the absolute truth'? I see the sun to be dot in the canopy of the sky, but I am told that it can hold a billion earths! I am told that the moon is dark and pockmarked, and yet it shines like silver on a clear night. I am told the pecks of light glittering in the night sky are actually huge balls of fire billions of light years away that the light that we see has been emitted millions of years ago! I am told that my father is dead - he has ceased to be - that is de-ceased, I am told that his spirit has travelled to some un-defined place which is forbidden for me by the very fact that I am still alive and haven't ceased. Who knows? who is and who isn't? It may very well be that I am dead and he alive?
Is cessation then merely a cessation of contact? is death then moving on to a plane that is inaccessible to the living? Is it the heaven of heavens that is unreachable to me?
I want my father to share my space and my time. I want him to be when I am. And I refuse to let him cease when I still exist.
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