Lately I have been seeing a lot of my father.
He has been hanging around the house quite a lot and I have been enjoying the comfort of familiarity. Those expressions of movement, the mannerisms, and the general deportment that I remember so well from times gone by.
You must realise that my father passed over nearly thirty years ago, but I am not cracking up. I am not seeing ghosts. What I am seeing is as real as you or me.
It struck me earlier today that I was seeing him vividly. The only thing was that I was seeing him from inside, not outside.
As I grew up, in common with most children I felt my father was ancient. In my case, he was in his late forties when I was born so he always was pretty old compared to me.
As I grew, he was the solid rock of dependability that steered us through life, and I always felt that once my father was around, that all would be right with the world.
Now what I am seeing is his mannerisms that I have subconsciously adapted. I see his walk, his distinctive movements, almost his thought patterns, for I have reached the age that he was at when I remember him the best.
It is quite comforting really.
I am become my father.