To: Rickety White (that’s a stupid name)
From: Afterlife communications dept.
Re: ghost of dead father
Dictated but not read.
Well now, not long to go until the littlun arrives. You must be very excited. One thing that’s probably worth mentioning—don’t be surprised if you start seeing your dead dad from time to time.
You might be surprised at how you find him. His demeanour may be different: no longer sad, not really old, though not exactly “young” either, it’s difficult to explain. You might find him impish, mischievous, with a general lightness about him which you never noticed. Death is a great unburdener.
You’ll find the littlun is drawn to him. If she stops crying for a bit and appears strangely fascinated by something only she can see, you’ll know your dead dad is probably nearby. Don’t be troubled, let him be a comfort to her. Your dead dad was great with kids, you might not know that. It’s not always the people you expect who have the most natural affinity with infants (NB: newborn babies exist on an ethereal plane which is technically closer to “death” than it is to “life” (as you understand the terms) some people are more attuned to its frequency than others).
If you catch your dead dad laughing while you’re getting frayed at the edges, swearing under your breath when the littlun chucks up all over you for the third time that night and you have to change her (and yourself) all over again, don’t get upset. He’s not laughing at you. And he’s not thinking, that’s you finally getting your comeuppance. Dead people don’t think about such things, it’s not a concern. The Living are absolutely fucking obsessed with comeuppances, honestly you need to let that shit go, it won’t do you any good.
That’s another thing: don’t keep scores. Don’t pretend to be asleep when the littlun cries at 3 a.m. because you got up last time, we all know you got up last time, no one’s going to give you a medal for it. Just get up again. And don’t make a big show of how disenfranchised you are, your dead dad went through the same with you, that’s just how it goes. Don’t make your wife feel bad, she’ll feel guilty for everything, all the time, that’s just how chicks are. Don’t turn away from her as soon as you get back into bed because you need to bank a few more minutes of precious sleep. It doesn’t matter, it’s not going to happen. Give your wife a kiss and a cuddle, tell her she’s doing great, tell her one thought or observation from the day which made you smile or laugh. Say them or you’ll miss them altogether (you’ll soon start forgetting everything, seriously your short term memory will be fucked to Hell) so say the things out loud (but not too loud), whisper them quietly in the dark, share them like pillow chocolates.
A quick note on “mortality mathematics”: you’ve probably already started doing this (you definitely have), mental calculations of how old you’ll be in relation to the littlun and others around you. You’re thirty-eight, meaning by the time she’s eighteen you’ll be fifty-six. Which seems old, and it is old. Many of your friends have kids who are already ten, eleven, twelve etc. meaning by the time they’re fifty, their kids will be fully grown. If they have a fiftieth birthday bash—some big, lavish affair in a nice hotel or even in a big marquee in their big, fancy garden (some of your friends will be rich and retired by age fifty) with fairy lights and a swing band and a free bar, they won’t have to worry about who’s looking after their kids. But you will. Your mum won’t be able to do it as she’ll be eighty-five (if she’s still alive). Your friends will be in their early forties when they take their kids skiing so they’ll be fit enough to really enjoy it and keep up with the littluns. You’ll be nearly fifty by the time your littlun is old enough to properly enjoy a skiing holiday and by that time your knees will definitely have given out. Your wife is five years younger, she’ll be alright. Anyway, stop doing all of the above. It is literally the most pointless thing ever.
Do try and keep fit though, that’s very important. You only get one body and while previously no-one really cared what you did with it, you now owe it to the littlun to maintain it. Your heart and lungs and flesh, are now a life support system for the idea that is “her father” so try not to fuck it up. Because one day you’ll look in the mirror and see your dead dad staring back at you. It may be he’s hidden behind the door to freak you out, but it may also be that you’re looking at yourself, in the mirror, but you now look almost identical to how your dead dad looked at your age (didn’t really need to labour that point, you probably understood the implication). Anyway, that’s life—staring back at you. The accumulation of years and years of stress, hard work, lack of sleep and constant worry, will turn you into your father. You can be sure of it. But you needn’t be exactly alike. The Living have the agency the Dead wish they had. You can always change things, change yourself. Keep that in mind.
Keep your temper in check. You get that from your dead dad. Stop being a moody git. Try not to raise your voice to the littlun, DEFINITELY don’t raise your hand to her, else you’ll never forgive yourself and neither will she. Your dead dad will confirm.
On a serious note, if one day, you get the diagnosis (you know the one), it probably is better to take matters into your own hands. But do it sensibly and don’t—for the love of God, whatever you do—fuck it up.
More than anything, try to remember that from the moment you bring a sentient life form into this world, a ledger is being kept. Everything you do will affect her in some way, so buck up! You were kept awake by your parents arguing at night when you were ten years old. You found your dad sleeping downstairs next to a bottle of whiskey. When he moved out your brother wouldn’t stop crying so you decided to be the strong one and leaned to push all your tears deep, deep down inside. Learned to hold everything in and never let it out. Then you developed a stutter, and it took you twenty years to figure out those things were connected? You fucking numpty.
But now you remember all that, instead of how he used to carry you on his shoulders to the corner-shop in the early morning when the birds were singing. How he taught you to ride your bike on a summer’s evening, past your bedtime. Bought you a pair of proper running shoes even though your mum said plimsolls were fine and it was overkill but you definitely ran faster in those shoes your dad got you. That’s your propensity to focus on the negative. Stop doing it. Now.
The point is: life is happening. None of this is practice, or a rehearsal, or a chance for you to hone your skills until such time as you can put them to good use in a more favourable set of circumstances once things have started to calm down a bit. THIS IS IT! Childhood doesn’t just happen, a life doesn’t just happen. It ripples across the everlasting, temporal sea. A life doesn’t end, not really. It goes on happening. It echoes and reverberates and if you wait long enough, eventually it repeats. We all live through each other, we’re all connected, we’re all one. So make space for your dead dad. You’ll find you need him from time to time. He wishes he could’ve done things differently but he did the best he could with what he had. It’s your turn now, so do the best you can. And try not to turn out too much like your poor, old dad. He spent too much time being sad and now he’s dead.
All the best son,
D
Rick White’s work can be found in trampset, Milk Candy Review, and X-R-A-Y. His dad is very much alive and a top bloke/grandad to his littlun. Rick’s debut story collection, Talking to Ghosts at Parties, is available via Storgy Books.
Image: reviewofreligions.org
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