As I have written before, my late father appears in my dreams more often than any other human being. And so it was last night...
I'm at his house in Ealing, when the doorbell rings. I answer. It's 'Iza', a composite character as I later discovered when analysing the dream. She has in her arms a large box, containing lots of tasty delicatessen items - hams, cheeses, Polish bread, fresh fruit - and a lovely arrangement of flowers in a pot.
"Oh, hi Michał! I didn't know you were over from Polska," she says. "I've just popped over to check up on your tatuś, and bring him some food..."
"Iza! You are too kind! How wonderful of you to think of my father and to call round with this food and flowers! He'll be absolutely delighted to see you! Do come in, Iza!"
She comes in, wiping her feet diligently on the doormat. I bound over to the kitchen, where my father is sitting. The only warm room in the house. He's wearing a cardigan over a jumper over a shirt over a vest. "Iza's here!" I say to him. My father's face lights up as he pushed back his chair and stands up to welcome his guest; Iza puts the box down on the kitchen table and he shakes her hand vigorously. "Such a lovely present! Such pretty flowers! Thank you! Thank you!" he says as he motions Iza to sit down while he puts the kettle on. I explain that I have some work to finish upstairs before I set off to a meeting in town, so I leave them in the kitchen to chat happily.
As I close the kitchen door behind me to keep the heat in, I can see my father coming down the stairs. "Did someone just ring the doorbell?" he asks, confused. "I was asleep." "Yes! It's Iza," I reply, "She's come to visit you and she's brought some lovely presents!" Suddenly I realise that I have a father in the kitchen and a father at the top of the stairs. "Iza who?" he asks, genuinely puzzled. "You know - Iza! She's come with some food and some flowers!" "I don't know who you are talking about..." he said, shaking his head sadly, genuinely puzzled, yet aware of the gaps in his cognition.
I wake up with a start.
WOW. The father coming down the stairs was the one I as remember from his last months, weeks even, of life. The moment he realised he was no longer able to fill in his spreadsheets, when he realised he would confuse himself into a circle of confusion, checking and rechecking things that he'd already checked and rechecked, uncertain whether or not he'd checked them and whether anything made sense any more. The other father, in the kitchen with Iza, was as I remember him at his best in old age, cheerful, chatty, delighted with the unexpected gifts that life could still bring. And Iza - a portmanteau of several kind women who'd often pop into visit my father.
In my dream, the most profound moment was when I realised that my father was in the kitchen and on the stairs at the same time - a quantum state; he was both a particle and a wave; I had observed both, and neither had decayed, neither had returned to the classical world.
UPDATE 17 NOVEMBER
Second night in a row I dream of my father. This time, we are in Duffield, Derbyshire, where my brother lives. My father has just finished varnishing the banisters of the wooden staircase that leads up to Eyes Meadow, (the recreational ground on the floodplain of the River Derwent) from the new secret tunnel that runs from my brother's house. My father was proud of his craftsmanship; the new secret tunnel was broader than the old, original Edwardian secret tunnel, which was so narrow in parts that once again I find myself in a birth-canal dream, like this one.
UPDATE 19 NOVEMBER
Third night in four I dream of my father. I am in a darkened room, getting my laptop ready for the day's work - the start screen appears with a bewildering number of icons and windows all scrolling down faster than I can deal with them. There's a knock on the door and in comes my father, bearing me a plate of cold cuts (szynka sopocka, kiełbasa krakowska etc), fresh Polish bread and butter - and best of all, a plate of scrambled eggs fried on butter with spring onion. I wake up with an appetite!
This time five years ago:
Teetering between rage and reason
This time six years ago:
Poland - it works!
This time seven years ago:
Bricktorian Birmingham
This time nine years ago:
Fog hits Modlin Airport
This time ten years ago:
The local elections and what they mean
This time 11 years ago:
Synchronicity of shape - Powiśle, Hanger Lane, Mel's Drive-In
This time 12 years ago:
The last of Jeziorki's noted landmark - the Rampa na kruszywa
This time 13 years ago:
Jeziorki spared high-density development thanks to airport zoning
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