I dreamed about my Dad dying again. It was weird. Especially now, at this stage of my own development as a father. It had a slew of rituals surrounding it that I can only attribute to the recent passing of my Father-in-Law, which happened about 2 months ago. My love for my Father-in-Law, Baba, Farokh Faranjpour, is tantamount to the love that I had for my own father. Different, but a strong and powerful love nonetheless. I think that I loved Baba so much, because he was that missing Grandfather that my children had in the absence of my Dad. Yes, Baba was absent because of distance, but he was still alive for a major part of their lives, and someone for them to know and speak to every now and then, even if it was across the ocean and a major continent. Plus, Baba Farokh was very cool. Now, Chop, he was cool too. My ace. My Pop. My erudite without even knowing that he was all of those things. He was street wise for sure, but he had book sense, although I know that he felt that he didn’t. But that’s another tale, and something I’m not trying to get into right now. What I do want to deal with is this damned dream.
Now Chop’s death was ages ago. We are talking about something that happened shortly after I got out of the Army way back in 1986. Wow, that was 31 years ago. I was just two months shy of turning 21 years old and obviously traumatized by the loss, but unable to cry or mourn his death until much later in my development as a young man. I guess that’s what spending 3 years in an elite military unit as a Paratrooper will do to you. Now I was in those units, the 82nd Airborne Division, and 1st Special Forces, but I remind you that I didn’t see a day of combat. There were no wars going on at that time. Grenada was over with by the time I went in, and they didn’t go into Panama to get Manuel Noriega until after I was out. And of course the first Gulf war in Iraq was just being concocted, and by that time, I was doing my thing, or getting ready too, with Spanish and Flamenco and the world that I was creating for myself. So what you should probably understand is that I was merely trained for combat and only half impacted by what our veterans of war are going through when they get out. That coupled with me being a young pup so hardened and ashamed of showing weakness, left some deep, deep wounds within me, which took a while to heal and even understand the nature of being wounded.
I guess that’s why I’m so shocked about dreaming about the old man again after 31 years of being without him. Is there something major getting ready to happen? I have to ask. I mean, is there something that I have I forgotten about him, some special date, say his birthday, which did happen one May 13, which caused me to dream that he had walked off, hand in hand, with my oldest when she was just about 7 years old. It was a message from my mind, or him I suppose, that I should never forget him, and that I should share who he was with my little ones. This is something that I have done, more with my oldest for sure, but it is definitely something that I have done. So it’s understandable why I’m perplexed that I should dream about him dying once again, and my having to prepare to mourn him again. Maybe I’m dealing with the loss of Baba. Syncing up those two passing’s in some strange way. Either way, it’s stirring up some emotions. It’s got me reaching out to siblings and asking for pictures. It’s got me thinking about my own mortality and what I will leave behind.
Let me know what you think it means. Send me a note. Private Message me. Let’s chat. I’m not really looking for answers, I stopped going down that rabbit hole with a lot of things, and with others, I’m like a Dachshund going full bore, but with this, I’m just interested in hearing other folks ideas and thoughts about the great beyond.