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I was running in the field. The field was barren, with a bit of grass or shade here and there, but mostly was the ground all around me. Trees were in the far-off distance. I am running toward the trees. I am not the only one. There are people running toward the trees. Not just people, but men. We were wearing a uniform of some kind in a light brown color. My shirt was buttoned with pockets on the front. The sleeves covered all my arms’ length. There were packs around my neck. The pants I was wearing were brown and leather matching my shirt. I had pockets near our hip. I looked down and I have another pocket on the right side of my leg. I was wearing leather boots with rubber soles. It seems sturdy. The men around me were wearing the same. I could not tell for sure because I was focused. Determined to reach the trees as fast as I can. But why?

BOOM! BOOM! CRACK! On my left, there was an explosion that hit the ground and some men flew. BOOM! BOOM! CRACK! came on my right as I looked. More men. My heart is pounding. BUM! BUM! BUM! BUM! I do not know what is louder. The bombs and explosions around me or my heart was beating. Emotions rushed through me. I was afraid. Afraid that today would be the day I die. No, not the time to think about it. My goal is ahead of me. The trees. I must find cover and rethink the plan. Why are there explosions around me? I could not figure It out.

A memory rush in my head. My pregnant wife. Would the baby have been born by now? I do not know. My older daughter, about eleven years old. I miss them! I must run for them. The memory was so vague. Glimpses and pieces. Orange hair like the color of the pumpkin, hazel eyes. My wife. Dirty blonde hair like mine, blue eyes like my daughter. Bits and pieces of memories. All I am thinking about was them. Why are there pieces?

I am running, but there is something in my hand. A rifle. Around me are other men carrying rifles. This must be a battle! A war ensured! Explosions and bombing everywhere! BOOM! A bomb on my left hit again! BOOM! Another one on my right! I see something pass by me. They seem like bullets! Hitting from behind and in front of me. I couldn’t see who is shooting whom. I am focused on the trees. I turned around and used my rifle. I shoot as little as possible. I am running! Then suddenly, for some reason, I looked up. I saw it, the bomb heading toward me! Falling down… down… down. Just as so-

“Augh!” I gasped! My heart was pounding! Really hard! It felt like I just had a heart attack. Panicking, I felt a lot of wetness coming out of my body. I am lying down, sweating on a bed. I look around me. I was in a hotel room. Relief came through me. I took several deep breaths. Breath, breath! Only a dream! I thought. After a few seconds of breathing, I started to think. Some emotions came up. Panic, scared, determined, almost as if I was a real soldier. It feels like it was not a dream, but a memory. How? Why? I never had this dream before. Why is this dream coming now?

I came out of bed and walked to the bathroom to take a shower. I turned on the water and took a few minutes to compose myself, to remember where I am. I am a forty-three-year-old man. I have never served in war or become part of military service in my life. I am single and do not have someone in my life. I do have friends with who I interacted frequently during the week after work. What is my job? Oh, right! I spent sixteen years of my career as a neuroscientist. Studying the brain has been part of my life. A brain is a complex machine composed of millions of millions of cells. It is like a control center of our mind. Whenever we walk, we talk, we chew, touch, feel, etc., all of it is the signals that were sent from the brain to the body to act. No matter how far we advance with studying the brain and learning the various parts of the body, there is still so much we do not understand. That was one of the many fascinating subjects about the brain. It made me wonder, do our thoughts send signals to the brain to our body or does the brain send those thoughts to us to compel those signals? A philosophical question: do we make choices or are our choices made up for us? Destiny versus freedom. That was the focus of my study currently. However, that was not why I am here.

I was about two thousand miles away from my residence, my workplace, my friends, the life that I am leading. I flew back home because I got a phone call. I remember that day. I remember leaving work and there was an unknown phone call. I thought about ignoring it because I could not recognize it. Then I recognize the area code. Home! I thought. My childhood hometown. I had no one left in my hometown now that my friends left the nest. I only had one family member left and this is not the phone number of that person. “Hello?” I answered.

“Greetings, sir!” Her voice and her tone were professional but concerning. “Is this Gerald Flinch? My name is Fiona Evans. I am a nurse at Boulder City Hospital. I am sorry to bother you at this time. However, you are an emergency contact of your father, Walter Flinch. There is terrible news that I need to talk to you about. Do you have a moment?”

I confirmed who I am and told her I had time. I listened to her story. It seemed that Walter, not who I want to call Walter “Dad”, was really drunk on the street and passed out. He was found by the police, but when he would not wake up, he was transferred to the hospital for evaluation and observations. It turned out that his liver was failing, that he has cirrhosis. He was transferred to a hospice department there and he does not have long. It could be days or hours since it was left untreated for a long time. They do not know. But they told me it was urgent that I came right away if I want to say goodbye. I told them I would think about it and hung up.

I came right home. Old emotions came back right at me. Emotions that I have long forgotten. That is the reason I ran away straight after college and never contacted Walter again. This is the first time in thirty years that I heard about Walter. I was pondering about the fact we didn’t talk. What went wrong? How did our relationship become sour? Why didn’t he apologize? Wondering if I should go and give my goodbye or not give a shit at all. It was not that he was a terrible father. He tried in his own ways growing up, but it was not enough. There was a lot left unsaid since I left. I was not aware he was drinking excessively since I left. He did not drink as much as this. There were some nights that he got overboard, but not daily. Or maybe it was not because I left. Maybe it was something else. I do not know. I cannot assume. After thinking, I packed a suitcase and booked a flight. I called my boss, but he did not respond. I left a voicemail explaining this situation. Something inside me told me I must go.

So here I am. I got out of the shower, brushed my teeth, and shaved. When I was done, I went to the closet where I put on my regular buttoned shirt and dress pants. I put them on. As I was putting them on, I know I should be thinking about Walter on what I should do, what should I say. How do I even start to tell him about all his crappy upbringing in my childhood? Do I even jump to that? I don’t know. I have not even got to see him yet. Yet, I cannot wrack my brain around why I had the dream. Why is it bothering me how surreal it was? I sighed and grabbed my valet ticket and walked out of the hotel room. I took the elevator down to the hobby and asked the valet outside for my car. When it arrived, I drove to the hospital.

When arriving at the hospital and being led by the nurse to his room, I was outside of the room, looking through the small window door. He has some grey hair left but was bald. He had blue eyes, glasses. He looked sturdy, strong, but it looked like he was in pain. Struggling. In all my years living with him growing up, I had never seen him look so…vulnerable. I was taking some breathing exercises. I was not sure how to react or how to talk to him. I was not even sure what he would say or react to knowing that I am here. His doctor came up to me. Told me of his prognosis so far in the hospital. He went in the summary of what was being done so far, but that his cirrhosis was so advanced, that there was nothing that can be done. It was a Tuesday, and they believed by the end of the week, maybe prior to it, that he will die. After a brief conversation, the doctor left to leave me on my own.

After a few minutes. I came into the room. As soon as I open the door, he looked at me. We locked eyes for several minutes. He looked shocked to see me the first couple of minutes as his mouth was open and his eyes widen. Then for the next couple of minutes, he looked away, closing his mouth. I saw a chair next to him and sat near him. I was trying so hard not to look at him. Then after a moment, I said, “So, Walter. Long time no see.”

He snorted, “Walter? Not Dad? After all these years? Thirty years! We have never seen each other! No phone calls, no letters, emails, texting, whatever the technology these days! Nothing! You know, I did nothing wrong with you by doing that!” His voice is angry, demanding.

“You never really earned the title! You are still blaming me for your wrongs. The usual, huh? Scoff!” I looked away for a moment then looked at him. “You never have been the man to apologize for your own mistakes. On how you treated me!”

“I raised you the best way I know how! Right after your mother died in childbirth! And this is the thanks I get for that?”

“And blaming me for my mother’s death is one of them too!”

“I never blamed you for her death!”

“You didn’t have to! Your words and actions showed it a lot!”

There was an uncomfortable silence that fills in the room. I was thinking about how we left things thirty years ago. I remember that day. We were at college and unpacking up in my room. There was an argument. I did not remember how the conversation goes, but I was trying to bring up things that he did to me growing up was wrong and I wanted him to understand. I needed him to understand. It was tense. Words were flying back and forth. Emotions were rising. He refused to admit what he did. Then as there were several boxes left in the car, he stormed out the room. He went to the car and drove off with the rest of the boxes. I was angry. I remember calling him on his cell phone so many times trying to get him to give me my stuff back. When there were no responses for hours, I was angry. I stormed outside of my dorm building to go for a walk and I saw the crumbled-down boxes laying near the driveway near the dorms. Some stuff was taken, but the essential stuff was left. Walter left those stuff. He never apologized and I never spoke to him ever since.

“Why are you here? You made it very clear you don’t want to see or talk to me again!” Walter asked.

I pondered for a few seconds. “Like it or not, I am the only blood relative left. You even put me down on the emergency contact. I just thought no one should die alone, not even you.” I looked him in the eye. Was that the truth? Or was it something I needed to do to make up for the lost years?

“Maybe you just want to make sure that I stay dead!”

I sighed. “No one deserved to die alone, not even you! And despite the tension, I don’t want you to die!” I didn’t? Well, I guess that one was true! 

He looked at me and scoffed. “Some way to go, huh?

I did not know what to do or what to say. Nevertheless, I felt it was urgent to stay.  We spent the next few hours in silence.

                                                              ***

        There were small talks over the next couple of days. We did not even talk about the tension of the past or the emotions that we both may have. It was like it was an unspoken rule. We were talking bits and pieces about our lives. I was telling him about what was going on with my life briefly. That I was a neuroscientist for twenty years after I got my Ph.D. at 27. I was doing various experiments that some were quite successful and made some publications in my field. That I was focused on the theory in further detail in my research right now. I told him about the city I lived in Maine and the people there. I told him a bit about my love life and how the last relationship went sour, and I did not go on dates for a few years. It was partly because I got invested in this theory and got diligent so much on the daily schedule, but also because I did not feel ready. There were some hopefuls, but I turned them down. There was one person who I worked with. My partner and we were assigned to work together on this theory.  I didn’t want to take it further than being colleagues. I had a mission, and I could not let it distract me. I did not tell him about that coworker though.

He told me that after I left, he was drinking more and more. He was working various odd jobs throughout the years and to no end, could not find what makes him feel happy or motivated to go to work. He prefers to hit up bars straight after work or to hang out with his poker buddies twice or three times a week. Sometimes he goes to casinos. There were some years when he was successful in being a gambler. He did date, but nothing serious. It was never serious. I figured because he was still in love with Mom, but I did not say it out. Then last few years, he was drinking excessively. He wouldn’t say what is the reason why. I noticed this is what he does. When things become tough for him, when he made mistakes, he deflected. He lived in denial. He would normally blame me, but it was not logical anymore. I am not part of his world anymore. So, he would blame other people, his friends, or even the world. Everyone but himself.

There were some flashbacks. Dreams that came over the next several days. There was a dream where I woke up right after the bombing hit me. I survived. There was a cost. I lost my right leg. They had to amputate it. When they told me, I screamed at them! I begged them not to. They didn’t have a choice. They said it was either my leg or my life. I did not choose the latter. I was forced. I was angry. The damage was done. I also was in unimaginable anguish. I lost a lot of good men that day. Soldiers that were my friends. That could have been lifelong friends. I remember we were drinking on some nights. We played poker sometimes. We exchanged our stories. People who we loved back home. Friends, family, lovers. People that were close to my family. Those people would never be the same. I survived and had to go home. I would never be the same again.

Another dream. It was a few years later. I was in the house. I was yelling at my wife. Yelling at my children. I was manipulative. I said some slurs. Some awful things. They had to take care of me. I did not like being taken care of. I was a soldier. I could never serve again because of losing my right leg. I walked with a cane. I tried to find work around the town. No one would want to hire a disabled man. I was hopeless. Angry, bitter. I was in pain. I did not care who I hurt. There were old friends, neighbors, even strangers who came by. They helped us, cooked for us, and buy us groceries. I yelled at them. I did not want their pity for me and for my family. We could handle ourselves!  I was supposed to handle it myself! I was supposed to take care of my family! I have seen terrible small dreams that continued like this for so many years. Who is this man I am in the body of?

Another dream. I was an old man. I was alone. No one came by to help me much anymore. I had to fend for myself for a long time. I was on the street. My wife left me a long ago with my daughters. No contact for several years. One day, my older daughter came and found me. Took me to her home. I cried. I was living with so many regrets. I apologized and apologized. I said that I was sorry for hurting her mother. She did not deserve that. I loved her. I am sorry for hurting her and her sister. I did not know why. They did not deserve it.  I sobbed. I begged her for forgiveness. ‘I am sorry, really sorry! I did not mean to hurt you. Not just three of you. Everyone in my life who helped me!  I don’t know why I did it. She did not say much. She helped me around the house, went out for errands. We reconnected a little piece by piece. The guilt was strong. Overbearing. I did not want to live. I did not want to live for a long time. One day, I went out in town without my daughter knowing. I bought a gun. I went to a beach. Somewhere in London. I had a letter I wrote the previous night. I read it and then I put the gun to my head an-

I woke up by the time the phone call rang. It was urgent. My father was not breathing very well. His eyes are yellow. They do not believe he could survive by the end of the day. Maybe at any moment now.

 Ever since I got here, those dreams feel more phantastic. Almost as if they were distant memories. Are they really memories? How is it possible? I never served in the war. What does it mean? Why do they show up when I am here? Right when Walter could die at any moment? It does not make sense.

Maybe I am not meant to. I got up and get dressed. I rushed to the hospital. After parking my car and rushing to his room, I saw him. He looked pale. White. He was not breathing normally. He did not see me come in. I sat down with him. I said, “Hey, Walter. It is me.” I told him what the doctors told me because they haven’t told him.

I must admit, at this moment, I was hoping his last words to be an apology. To wish that he made some amends for the things he has done. I remember the dream and see my own father as the old man who I was in that dream. I see that man sobbing, begging his daughter for forgiveness. It does not seem like she forgave him. I couldn’t tell in the dream. I wondered if my father says those words, would I be able to forgive him?

He didn’t say anything. He was breathing. He closed his eyes. It seems like a long time has passed. I was having a flash of anger inside me. He is dying and he is not saying anything? Nothing? Would he keep his own world that he keeps seeing instead of the reality all the way until the end of his life? Why? Why are those dreams bothering me? Even now, they are replaying in my head over and over again.

Suddenly, it hit me. Those dreams and my father are connected. They do not belong to me. Nor do they belong to my father. He did not serve in the war. However, it made me wonder. Is my mind creating stories to tell me of a pattern between the old man and my father? Is my brain trying to tell me something? Then the words came pouring out.

“I know why, Dad!” I cannot believe I said Dad for the first time. He opened his eyes and looked at me. “I know why after all this time; you are the man you are today. I wish I have seen it before. I wish you told me how you felt. But I understand now!

“You loved Mom. You had a plan with her. You were planning to have me as your son. You were planning to have yourself and raise me with her together. Maybe even have more children after me. Who knows? You had a plan. Then all suddenly, Mom died. It was unexpected. Painful! Your whole world turned upside down! You were living in grief for a long time with that. You looked at me and you see Mom. Not only do you see Mom within my face or personality, whatever it is, but you see the plan you had for the rest of your lives together. And it reminded you of the pain, what was lost. What was taken from you! And I think every day, you wondered what you have done to deserve this. You must have felt like you were being punished. You must have looked back in your life and tried to figure it out. And when you couldn’t figure that out, you just…deflect. You deflected on me, you blamed others. You blamed the world. You blamed everyone else. And that became your coping mechanism, did it? It is much easier to blame others for the shit that happened to you than to face the truth. That it just happened. There is no reason why it happened. But you must felt like there had to be a reason. So that became your defense for a long time. And because of that, you were making mistakes. When you made mistakes, even if it was small. You just refused to take responsibility for it.  You were not perfect raising me growing up. You were yelling at me. You said awful things to me growing up. You even blamed me for them. When I was talking to you about how I feel about things in general, you walked away. You did not want to listen. You did not want to talk about feelings! You were sensitive. Because talking about those feelings would bring up those feelings back. That was what you were trying to avoid for a long time, is it?

“I had dreams lately. Strange dreams and I could not explain it. But I think deep down, those dreams were telling me something. That deep down, you wanted to apologize. You wanted to tell me all those years of what you did wrong. That deep down, you were hurting. But also deep down, you were proud of me. You always were. That you loved me, even when you couldn’t admit to me. Not once. Not since I remember. And I understand now. I am not going to bring up all those things you have done. I don’t think those mattered anymore.” I started crying. Sobbing. I grabbed his left hand on his bed. “I…forgave you, Dad. I forgave you! I am not forgiving you to make yourself better. But I am forgiving you because…I need to move on. I know who I am now. I am not you. I am not that old man. I do not want to do that to anyone of what you both did. I know I can love someone else. I think I stopped myself because…I thought I need you to say you loved me. I thought I needed someone to love me. The truth is…I need to love myself first before I can, no matter what happened to me or my body. I know that doesn’t make sense, but my dreams taught me that I deserve better things than now. I want to be a better man, a better partner, and a better father than you would ever be! I got to stop blaming you. So, I am not blaming you for my hesitancy. For my self-doubt. For not loving myself. That is my responsibility now.

“So…I hate to say it, but you are right. You did those things in your own way. You tried to love me in your own way. I must accept that. So, I love you for that, even if those things would never be enough. I love you! And it is okay if you would never apologize. It is okay if you never said you loved me. Because you value your pride all those years over the vulnerability.”

There was silence in the room. My father was struggling to breathe further and further. It was almost like seeing him suffocating. He opened his eyes and tears were coming out. He was crying, sobbing. Then suddenly, a gasp came out. His last breath. He was trying to mouth something, to say something. I couldn’t pin out what. Before I could ask, he was gone.

I sobbed on his chest for a while. I looked at him and his lifeless body. Something about looking at his body, it was…peaceful. Almost as if he let go of something. I do not know what it is he let go. Were the words I said was the truth? Was that why he was the man he was? I did not know. And looking at his face, I saw his eyes looking toward me. I was the last thing he saw when he died. I realized it didn’t matter if he didn’t say his truth. Maybe I was speaking the truth for both of us. 

After fifteen minutes of looking at his body, to try to soak it all in all those emotions. Peace, love, happiness, grief, anger, pain, sadness, anguish, etc. All those bittersweet moments led me here today. I felt like what he may have let go, I also let go of something too. I kissed my father on his forehead and then I rang for the service of the nurse and the team. Everyone came in, including the doctor, to take care of the body, of what to do. I told them what I would like to do with my father’s body and then I thanked them for their service. I told them to keep me in touch.

I left the hospital and was held to the hotel. I called my work to say that I am returning within a few days. I had some things to take care of. I do not know what to do next when I return to my home. All I know is that I am exhausted and ready to lie on my bed.

And as soon as I slept that night, I never had those dreams again.