Sunday, November 2, 2008
Eben Barnett Carlson
I dreamt about my dad last night. I love dreaming about dad and I wish it happened much more frequently. When I dream about my dad I have him back, maybe for only a bit, but he's there I can see him and talk to him. And, of course, in real life I can't do that. When I wake up after these dreams I feel a mixture of happy and kind of melancholy.
A couple of my friends have had parents die in the last month. I will be going to my second funeral in a month this week. Maybe that is why I have been thinking about my dad. I have not been to any funerals since my dad died. Actually, I did not really goto a funeral when my dad died. My family or my dad's family doesn't really do funerals. My dad actually wrote in his will that he did not want a funeral of any kind. In the end we threw a party for him then later had a much smaller get together of family when we 'buried' his ashes. We all thought, even given the interdiction, my dad would have been tickled pink about the party and the stories.
I don't think about my dad all the time, but when I do, I really just want to be able to talk to him. There are so many things about my life I would like to share with him. Otto, he would love Otto. When I was growing up I had a dog named Nellie. When I went to college Nellie kind of became my dad's dog. Nellie adored my dad. She went every where with him - even walking him to the bus stop every morning (which involved crossing a really really busy street by herself on the way home). I would love to discuss my work with my dad. My dad was an attorney and would probably have some good insight into the world of investigations. My dad always told me not to become any attorney, but he might like investigations. What would he think about Obama? The Iraq war - the only time my dad and I ever disagreed on politics was about the first Iraq war, he thought Sadam was evil, like a Hitler and needed to be removed.
My dad was super crazy smart (he spent his friday evenings discussing physics for fun), funny, lazy (that's where I get my ability to sit around and read a book rather than cleaning a really messy house), a bit of a slob (ditto), kind, terrible with his own finances, a scratch golfer, a great photographer (he took the picture of himself), and a great friend. He may not have been great sharing his feelings, but I know he loved me and my brother and sister more than he could ever express. I saw it sometimes. He died 9 year ago on November 9th. He was 61 when he died, one year older than he ever thought he'd be.
I love you dad!