June 6: Dreams, Dad, Drugs

Gah, I had the strangest dream last night.

• Strange thing #1: I was friends with all the Sex and the City women. We were at the same college, though apparently just hanging out on campus and not attending. And one day I just sorta realized, “Hey, these women are famous all over the world and here they are on our little college campus, doing the same things we do and being our friends!”
  
• Strange thing #2: All of them except Sarah Jessica Parker—who was not Carrie, but SJP—were killed in a car accident in Japan or someplace like that (this might stem from Chris’ fakey movie spoilers—thanks, jackass!). Miranda’s funeral was held soon afterward. Charlotte’s funeral was later and we were getting ready to go. Sarah Jessica was very upset and we were all comforting her but I think mostly we just wanted to pretend this celebrity needed us normal people.
  
• Strange thing #3: The third woman was not Samantha but some other woman, and she showed up at Charlotte’s funeral. Then we all went to hers together. Yes, we all went to hers together. And I tried to put pantyhose on over my pantyhose. And Vic was mad because he couldn’t find our The Little Mermaid DVD and he thought we should play it during at least one of the funerals.
  
• Strange thing #4: My dad was alive again. We’d had his funeral in 2005 but his death had been faked by the spy organization he was working for. Kath and I always suspected this...
  
• Strange thing #5: My mom made us have another funeral for our dad and made him attend. It was held on a hill in rural Clackamas County and we all sat on logs like it was summer camp. Dad sat and took notes throughout the whole thing, probably of errors made in the eulogy. I chose “Time of Your Life” to be played at the service.

I woke up with the words to “Time of Your Life” going through my head. I looked up the lyrics and some of them seem somewhat appropriate for a funeral, but if you really examine them, it really is more of a break-up song—which is what Green Day kept trying to explain to people when the song got overplayed as a “good memories” song. Anyway, here they are:

Another turning point;
a fork stuck in the road.
Time grabs you by the wrist;
directs you where to go.
So make the best of this test
and don't ask why.
It's not a question
but a lesson learned in time.

It's something unpredictable
but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

So take the photographs
and still frames in your mind.
Hang it on a shelf
In good health and good time.
Tattoos of memories
and dead skin on trial.
For what it's worth,
it was worth all the while.

It's something unpredictable
but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

Tomorrow it will be three years since my dad died. And what’s been going through my mind over the past few weeks as I’ve anticipated this anniversary is that I wonder if Dad had regrets. I like to think he enjoyed his time here, that he loved us and was happy with his life, for the most part. I do wonder if—if he ever would have admitted them—he wished he’d done things differently. And if he had known he was going to die when he did, how he would have spent his last days. Quite frankly, I think he would have spent them alone and crying. He never had a very good hold on his emotions and he hated being seen in a vulnerable state. He probably wouldn’t have known what to do with the last of his time here and would have felt totally overwhelmed by it. I guess for his sake, I’m glad he went unexpectedly so he didn’t have time to think about those things.

I’m also glad he didn’t grow ancient and bedridden because oh, how he would have hated that. But if I could have it the way I want? I would want him here because I have missed him every single day for three years. He’s never far from my thoughts. I still think “I need to call Dad” when I find things that would make him laugh. I still hear his overused jokes and phrases that were so “him.” In all the ways he drove me crazy and in all the ways I adored him, I wish it could be so very, very different.

I’m planning on writing something about him here tomorrow, hopefully in a more positive way. But as you think about what you’ll be doing tomorrow, I would be honored if you would do at least one of the ten things on this list to remember Curt Saltmarsh. Thanks. We all thank you.

As for the strange dreams, I’ve been on potent painkillers the past few days because of this headache. I think they’re to blame. I’m going to blame them anyway. Because if it’s not the drugs, then it’s just me; it’s just my wacky little brain coming up with this stuff all on its own. And that is more frightening than the dreams themselves.