Remember November

Chapter Six

**Graphic imagery, please proceed with caution**

While I was sleeping, I dreamt of something horrific. I saw my mother pressed up against another man while replaying the times I remember as a kid when she told my father he was the only one for her. I saw myself at eight years old, asking my father, "Where's mommy?" With him replying, "She's working really hard. Why don't we do something fun, just us two?"

The present me, though still in my nightmare, began to cry. Has this really been going on for nine years? Or was it something as of recently and only progressed from her working too much?

I saw my mother and I sitting down together when I was a preteen, talking to me about love, and how I might confuse it with other feelings at that age. How would she know what love is? At least any boy I liked I never thought about liking another one.

Then I saw my father. He had been divorced once before. 

She left him for another man.

My dad wasn't good enough for her because he didn't make enough money despite supporting her in other aspects. He told my mom this but not the part about the money. Instead of saying, saying, saying, he thought, he would just do: put the paychecks on the table so he could avoid another woman leaving him for the lack of paychecks, the lack of financial support, the lack of necessity.

That's why he's been so incompetent to give my mother the emotional support she so desperately wanted: He's done it once before which got him heartbroken and divorced.

I remember when I was 10 years old I asked him why he was always at work. "So you and mommy can live a happy life." I didn't think about it, because I was happy. It's nice when you're young and your parents can buy you anything you want. Any new toy that came out, or a new gaming console or phone or laptop, it would be mine.

Since his first divorce, he mistook money for happiness. Materialism for completion. He couldn't win, no matter how he tried.

In my nightmare, my father was wrecked. He was crying, eyes puffed and red, pacing around the living room without knowing what to do with himself. He ran upstairs all the way to the attic. I followed behind him to see what he was looking for.

I heard some clattering and dragging around the floor but thought, he's mad. He's just throwing some stuff around.

I climbed the latter, and when I reached the top I saw that a rope was tied to a heavy old bookcase we didn't use anymore. The rope was thrown through the window, and when I went to look outside, I saw my father hanging from it.

That vision alone woke me up instantaneously. I had never, ever felt such a heavy weight in my stomach. I bolted up from my bed and ran around the house to find my dad.

My mom heard me panting and crying from the hallway and came out of her bedroom.

"Honey, it's 3 in the morning. What's going on?" She came and touched my arm, trying to comfort me.

"Where's dad? I need to find dad."

"He's on the couch."

I started to run downstairs and heard my mom talking indistinctively to me -- I couldn't hear her over the pounding of my own head. My tears blurred my vision.

I walked up to my father sleeping soundly on the couch. I hugged him and he woke up.

"Hey. What's that for?" He said, rising.

"Nothing. I just love you."

"I love you, pumpkin, Come sit."

"I just had this horrible dream and I just wanted to let you know that I love you and I appreciate you and everything you have done for me and I never want to lose--"