When my father died, I was overcome with guilt that I hadn't been with him. Then he came to me in a dream... By Bobbie Probstein

After my mother passed away, my dad tried even harder to stay healthy and active. Each morning, until the weather turned too cold, he swam in the turquoise pool in the complex where he lived. Each day--no matter how he felt--he swam one more lap than the previous day, just to prove there was always room for improvement. Every few days he reported the new number of laps to me, pride edging his voice. I would answer truthfully, "Golly, Dad, I don't know if I could still swim that many!"

By his late seventies, in spite of swimming and working six days a week, my dad had noticeably dwindled in strength and energy. By age eighty-one he was in poor health and had to retire. He pretended he didn't need to lean heavily on me for support as we walked slowly, and I pretended not to notice. His mind was clear, but congestive heart problems and disabling arthritis had worn him down. One day he said, "In case of an emergency I do not wish to be kept alive by any extraordinary means. I've signed an official paper to this effect." He smiled his wonderful, broad grin and said, "I've been blessed to have had your mother as my wife and you as my only child, and I'm ready to go." Less than a month later he had a heart attack. In the emergency room, he again reminded his doctor and me of his wishes, but I couldn't imagine - in spite of this latest crisis - that he wouldn't always be saying, "Have I told you yet today that I adore you?"

He was miserable in intensive care; tubes seemed to come from every opening. But my dad still had his sense of humor, asking me, "Does this mean we can't keep our lunch date tomorrow?" His voice faltered.

"I'll be here to pick you up and we'll go someplace special." I answered, a lump in my throat.

Dad refused to look at me for the first time in his life and turned toward the blank green wall next to his hospital bed. There was a painful silence between us. He said, "I don't want you to remember me like this. Promise me you won't, darling! And please go now - I'm so miserable."

That night, back at the hospital with my husband, the attendants wouldn't let us in to see him. "He's having a little problem," one said. "Please wait in the visitors' lounge and we'll call you as soon as possible."

I sat holding my husband's hand for about ten minutes. Suddenly, a jolt shook me and I felt my heart stop beating. "Oh, honey," I said. "Daddy just died. I felt it!" I jumped up, rushed down the hall to intensive care and began knocking on the door. "Let me in to see him," I begged.

"He just died a moment ago," one of the nurses answered. "Please go back to the lounge and we'll come get you in a few minutes." They blocked the door so I couldn't rush in.

It had seemed to me that this beloved man could never die. He had been such a solid, loving presence in my life. In spite of what the nurse had said, my heart refused to believe he died so suddenly. I raged inside, believing I had let my dad down by not being at his side, holding his hand and telling him of my love as he had passed on. That's the way it should have been, my inner critic scolded. You should have told him how much you loved him, as he had always told you. You should have been there for him. It would have meant a lot to him. That's what you should have done! And I felt the relentless heaviness of guilt mingled with grief.

Knowing I'd been an attentive and loving daughter wasn't enough as the months and years wore on. Nothing made a dent in my stubborn conviction that I hadn't been there when he'd needed me the most.

Now a dream has set me free.

After a dozen years, my father came to visit me in a dream and tell me his side of the story:

You know I worked long past retirement age, and when my knees just couldn't carry me anymore, I felt disgraced by being so weak. Most of all, I never wanted you to see me as a helpless old man dying in a hospital bed. It would have hurt too much to have you there. So I'm telling you the truth, my darling daughter: I know you loved me as I loved you. And I did not want you there at my death, and I did not want you holding my hand when I died. That was what you wanted, not what I wanted. My death was perfect, just the way it was. There are two sides to everything - even death.

      父亲死时，我内疚万分，痛恨当时不能陪在他身边。然后，他进入了我的梦中……

      母亲死后，父亲更加尽力使自己健康，多活动。每天早上，除非天气过于寒冷，他都会在所住大宅的绿色池中游泳。每天，不管身体怎样，他都会比前一天多游一圈，只是为了证明人总是可以进步的。每过几天，他都会向我报告游泳的圈数，语气中带着份自豪。我会老实的回答：“天啊，爸，我都不知道能不能游那么多圈。”

      然而，尽管父亲每星期六天的游泳、工作，接近八十岁时，明显的他的体力精力都下降了。到八十一岁时，他因身体差，不得不退休。我们漫步时，父亲假装不需要很靠在我身上，我也假装没注意到。他的思维清晰，但充血性心脏病和致残性关节炎已磨损了他的身体。一天，他说：“万一有紧急情况，我不想借助特殊医疗手段生存。我已经签署了这方面的合同。”他露齿大笑着，继续说：“能娶你妈为妻，又有你这么个独子，我很幸福了，我有心理准备接受死亡了。”

      不到一个月，他的心脏病发作。在急诊室，他再次提醒医生和我他的遗愿。虽然他最近病危，我还是想着他总是说着：“我今天告诉你我喜欢你了吗?”

      他接受重病特别护理，状况很糟；身上插满管子。但父亲仍保持着他的幽默，问我：“这是不是说我们明天的午餐我要违约了？”他的声音颤抖着。

      “我会来这里接你，我们可以去个特别点的地方。”我答道，哽咽欲泣。

      父亲有生以来第一次不敢正面看我，把头转向他病床边的绿色墙壁。我们尴尬的沉默着。他说：“我不想让你记得我这副模样。儿子，答应我你会忘记的。你走吧—我好狼狈。”

      那晚，我和丈夫在医院，护士们不让我们进去见他。“他有点小状况，”一个护士说，“请留在访客室，我们会尽快通知你的。”

      我坐着，握着丈夫的手。十分钟左右后，我突然一震，感觉心脏停止了跳动。“亲爱的，”我说，“父亲刚刚去世了，我感觉到的。”我立马起来，匆忙跑过大厅，奔向特别护理室，边敲门边哀求：“让我进去看他。”

      “他刚走，”一个护士答道，“请回到访客室，我们过会就来找你。”她们挡着门，不让我冲进去。

      在我看来，我爱的这个人永远都不会死的。在我生命中，他坚实，关心他人。虽然护士那样说了，我内心却拒绝相信他走的这么突然。我冲了进去，认为临终前不在他身旁会令他失望。我握着他的手，告诉他我的爱，正如他那样爱我。我内心指责自己，你应该那样做的。你应该告诉他你有多爱他的，就像他告诉你他爱你一样。你应该在那儿陪他的。那样他会好受很多的。你应该那样做的。愧疚和悲伤如此沉重。

      虽然我是个照顾父亲、爱戴父亲的女儿，但即使时光流逝，我仍是内疚不已。固执的认为在父亲最需要我的时候我却不在，一切都无法减轻这个想法。

      现在，一个梦让我得以解脱。

      十二年后，我的父亲进入我的梦中，对我说：

      你知道，我早过了退休年龄，却还在工作。当我的膝盖承受不起我的身体时，我如此虚弱，感觉很狼狈。更重要的是，我不想你把我想成一个在病床上等死的无助老人。如果你当时在那，我会很伤心的。因此，亲爱的女儿，我告诉你真相：我知道你爱我，就像我爱你那样。临终时我不想你在那，我也不希望死时你握着我的手。你想那样做，但我不想。我死的很安心，一直都是。任何事都有两面性—即使死亡也是如此。