I wake in a cold sweat. The dream again. Will it never end, I ask myself.
As I lay very still, my mind takes me back. Back some twenty-five years ago at the age of five. A small happy five-year-old.
It had been raining and was a cold rain as it is now. I remember my dad picking me up and telling me mom had to work late, and we would get a burger for dinner.
He had said he was very tired, and I should go ahead and eat. He was going to take a nap on the sofa.
After I ate and watched the television for a while, I went to talk to him to see if he was hungry. I guess he was really tired because he didn't want to wake and was cold. I got a blanket from the bed and put on him Then watched more television.
When the news came on, I knew it was past my bedtime and went to wake him again. He was still cold, so I turned the heat way up to get him warm.
I lay on the floor next to him, in case he woke. I really was scared to go upstairs alone but didn't want to admit it.
When I woke, I heard my Mom talking about how hot it was in the house. I saw the tears in her eyes as she took me in her arms and held me tight. I though she was mad because of the heater being turned up so high.
It was a while before I finally realized she was not mad at me and the reason Dad was so cold.
The doctors told mom the dreams would go away, and I would forget someday. Me I don't think so. I have them night and day. Asleep or awake. I have just learned to stop talking about it. I saw how much it make my Mom cry.
Oh, how I wish my Dad had never gone to sleep on the sofa and gotten cold. My dad had died that night.