Longing for my dad’s voice

Last night I dreamt about my dad. We were in the same yoga class. I arrived late, wearing jeans, flustered, without a mat.

Everyone was looking at me like I was an annoyance, then I turned around and there was my dad with his walking stick, wearing his boots, big khaki shorts and white buttoned shirt – his uniform – being who he was, setting up his mat and water bottle at his own pace.

He smiled at me and waved like I was doing okay, and I woke up with tears on my cheeks and a heart filled with love. God, I miss my dad.

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I miss him randomly, sometimes so badly it floors me.

He died five years ago in April – today is not even an anniversary, just a missing person day – and before that he went through a period of being the most frustrating person on the planet.

Only too late we discovered how sick he was, the mass in his lungs had spread to his brain, affecting his personality.

He was in a lot of pain and not being treated for it – the specialist who had diagnosed the cancer stepped away when my dad refused chemotherapy; his own doctor seemed unaware of the diagnosis – and, a week before he died in the early days of lockdown, he was told he couldn’t have any more pain injections because they were bad for him.

Pain relief was bad for a dying man. I’m still angry about that.

But most of all, I miss my dad. I miss his whistle, I miss his laugh, I miss his voice.

On Sunday morning I’m always on deadline, and invariably he used to call me when my mom had gone to church.

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He’d want to discuss the state of the world, or the state of his pub quiz, or how he was forgetting the periodic table – why didn’t I listen?

Why didn’t I realise that this missing information, formerly seared on his chemist mind, was a symptom of something nefarious? – and I was too busy.

I wish I’d listened more, asked more.

“Dad,” I’d say over and over, “I’ve got to send my column.”

Oh, sorry, he’d reply each time, like it was news to him. And now every Sunday morning I wake up and look with longing at my silent phone.