I was grateful for Catey’s phrase because it was my first indication that it was okay to feel anything other than sadness about his death. He had suffered from mental illness for most of his life and had moved to be closer to me five years prior as his overall health deteriorated. Most friends had guessed, even if I hadn’t told them, that my dad had challenges. “The dreaded freedom.” That’s what my friend Catey Terry called it when I told her my dad had died. I think Dad keeps returning to me in dreams because I feel guilty that my life is easier now that he’s gone. It’s like swimming upward to a place where I can breathe again.
Waking up from these dreams I feel something familiar: relief. On the obligation to prevent people from dying alone
