Now that my sleep is inverted, I wake later than I will admit and write into the hours of the night that used to haunt me. Maybe this is for the best, a way for me to coexist with the ghosts or perhaps for me to allow them to see me awake and alive. I don’t imagine that during the daylight hours they wander the house as I do laundry or rearrange yet another drawer. At night is when they get their true insight into me spirits that live inside of me, the angels and demons – each fighting to protect one another from me.
Steadfast, my Foxhound sleeps on the bed that I’ve put together for him today. Simple enough: soft pillows, my fluffy robe and he’s happy to be my sentry. He knows when they are watching me or when my father is nearby. Bob is in tune with my father, but Tobey is so linked with me that one cannot exist without the other. The ghosts know he is aware of his presence and his protection; it is a mutual respect that keeps me safe and them at bay.
“Jo, if ever asked to choose between your dog(s) and anything (spouse, friend) – you always pick the dog”. That very well may be one of the wisest things my father has ever imparted upon me in his shortened life.
I wonder if Tobey or Bob know, or the ghosts, whether my fear of later this week is real. I’ve said it out loud to get it out of my head, figuring that if I say it then it certainly won’t happen. Yet there is a fear deep inside of me that keeps me awake, freezing in 80 degree weather, headaches, sore throat, angry and sad: I am petrified that it is a rouse and I will be made a fool. Or, that it will be once in a decade, I could go on with my fears until I frighten the ghosts next door.
Irony 101:
I am putting 100% Faith into this new Sisterhood. I fear that I have come across too needy – I fear everything. It’s amazing to me that I can feel such a deep familial love for a person I’ve really only known since April. All of those years before are a montage of photos, film bits and half memories that I’m not even sure are true or built from other people’s memories.
Dad, I need to talk to you about things that only you can know. My career, buying a house, family, my fears and hopes about the future. I am sitting here, the only noise is the quiet snoring of my sweet dog, snoring as though he’s worked a hard day on the farm – rather than the couch. I close my eyes and I can hear your direct answers, then I hear the silence when you disagreed. AA taught you to say nothing if you didn’t agree, that was difficult for the little girl who hung on your every word.
Waking up after maybe a 10 minute nap at my desk, I look at my sweet angel, and think if he would mind a bit of company on the bed on the floor. Sleep is difficult for me in the past few months, since I lost my Faith. I sleep with my head on the dining room table, sitting on chairs, sofas, on the floor with my dogs, on the sofa – and infrequently where I belong: in my bed.
The ghosts must be as confused as I am, wandering about, not knowing where I am going to be; when I am going to be awake or asleep. I’ve stolen their chance to snoop and be curious because I am no longer predictable. The one attribute that IS my father, seems to be seeping through my pores each day. Time is meaningless, days, weeks; all just lines on a cell wall. More often than not, I wake unsure of where I am, the time, day or date; it doesn’t bother me anymore.
Is this how it began for Faith? That’s something I will never know, I should have asked more, learned more – hindsight. Do the ghosts know if I will suffer the same demise, was that supposed to be me; or shall I set it free with the guilt of a balloon. Tell her I love her, ask her to hug my Dad, cry if I have any tears left and then hug my sister as she sets free some of her demons.
You Cannot Take This Too, Enough 