Episode 098 - In Real Life

Stop Making Yourself Miserable

In the last episode, we looked at two disturbing events that happened to me during the last week of November of 1965. In the first, I was sitting in synagogue with my father and toward the end of the Saturday morning service as the rabbi was announcing the prayer called the Mourner’s Kaddish, with a sudden sense of urgency, my father had me swear a solemn oath before God that I would say this prayer for him after he died. Surprised at the completely unexpected request, but taking no serious note of it, I made the vow.

Then a few nights later, I had a harrowing nightmare where I was being chased by an invisible killer. I ended up standing before a huge wooden cross that clearly represented death to me. A hooded monk who was standing next to it, telepathically said to me, “You have come upon it.”

Then to my extreme dismay, the dream turned into a recurring nightmare, as I had it on the following two nights as well. Now, as you may sense, we are beginning to approach some rather dramatic territory and before we start, I would like to mention a couple of key points, by way of introduction.

First, the events that were about to unfold would alter not only my entire life, but more critically, my most basic understandings about the nature of existence itself. Foundations were being laid that would lead to the massive inner revolutions I would grow though during the deeply turbulent times that were about to follow.

Secondly, the main reason that I am recounting these events is to provide some possible encouragement to anyone who may be facing some hard times and might want to explore the deeper sides of human intelligence and the potential that lies within each one of us. So here we go.

The next part of the story begins on Thursday night, December 2. My father was leaving for Boston the next day for the big 76ers - Celtics showdown in the Boston Garden. It was still early in the season, but the stakes were already enormous.

For me, the day had flown by as any standard eleventh grade day normally did. After dinner, I finished my homework, goofed around a little and finally went to bed, but I never got sleepy. I was much too agitated.

My mind seemed to be spinning around about my social life, my schoolwork, and of course, the gigantic upcoming game with the Celtics. But I knew that none of that was what was keeping me awake. The real reason I couldn’t fall asleep was because I was too afraid that I was going to have that horrible nightmare again, and I just couldn’t face the prospect of going through it all one more time.

I don’t remember getting tired or drifting off to sleep. I was just lying in bed with my eyes closed and the very next thing I knew, I felt a funny sensation in my stomach, like I was in a moving car that had just come over a hill and was on its way down. I opened my eyes and saw my hands resting on the steering wheel of a car. I looked over them at the hood and realized I was driving my father’s Cadillac.

I came down the hill on Spring Avenue and turned left onto Heather Road, as I had done a million times before. Our house was on the corner.

With slight concern, I noticed that there were a few cars parked in front as I drove by, which was out of the ordinary. I made a right turn into the driveway, pulled up, and got out of the car. I walked around back and came in though the kitchen door.

My mother was on the phone with her back to me. She didn’t turn around. My father’s younger brother was standing in front of the stove with his arms folded across his chest. He kept staring down at the floor, as though I wasn’t even there.

I went into the main hall, and up the stairs. I turned left at the top and walked up to my sister’s room. As usual, her door was closed. I put my right hand on it, and stopped for a moment. Starring at the back of my hand I thought, “Well, this is it.”

I pushed the door open. Sybil was standing in the back of the room with a few friends. She looked up at me. “Daddy’s dead,” she said. “We don’t have a daddy anymore.”

“This is terrible,” I thought to myself. “But why are you talking like this? You’re twenty years old, and you sound like a four-year-old.”

I didn’t say anything and walked out of her room, down the hall, and into my room. I sat down on my bed, and suddenly got overwhelmed with an intense anger at God.

“Why did you do this?” I thought. “Why in the world did you have to do this?” I closed my eyes and smashed my fist down on the large end table next to my bed. As soon as my fist hit the table, I opened my eyes and felt completely disoriented. I was still in my room, but instead of sitting on my bed, I was lying in it. It took a few moments for me to grasp that I had been asleep and as real as it had seemed, the entire experience had only been a nightmare.

Of course, I was relieved. I had just gone through the horrible experience of having my sister tell me that my father had died. And now, thankfully, I realized it had all been just a bad dream. Still, on a deep level, I was profoundly shaken because in truth, there had been nothing dreamlike about it.

I was happy about one thing, though – I hadn’t had a repeat of the horrible dream with the killer and the cross. At least that recurring nightmare seemed over.

***

Now, it was Friday morning, December 3, 1965. I picked up my good friend Marty and drove him to school. But as soon as he got in the car, I felt compelled to tell him all about my dream. I felt like I should tell someone because if it happened to come true, I didn’t want to be the only one who knew about it in advance. It seemed like the kind of thing that could drive you nuts if you didn’t handle it right.

We only talked about the dream for a quick minute as we drove, and then switched to our plans for the upcoming weekend, which was packed with social events. The school day flew by in a flash, and the next thing I knew, it was Friday night.

There was a big party and I was going to drive across town, pick up my girlfriend, and bring her with me. It was a half-hour ride each way, and when it came time to leave, I suddenly didn’t feel like driving by myself. I called Marty and asked him to come with me. He agreed if we didn’t take my Sprite, which was only a two-seater. He was six-one and didn’t want to be cramped-in for that long.

The 76ers – Celtic game was going to be on national TV and my mother was getting ready to watch it. My father had flown to Boston with the team. I asked her if it was OK for me to take her Pontiac. “You better not,” she replied. “Sybil has a bunch of friends coming over, and she may need it.” She turned on the TV and sat down on the couch. “Take the Caddy,” she said, nonchalantly.

Without giving it a second thought, I hopped into my father’s car and picked up Marty. About twenty minutes into the ride, I suddenly felt like hearing some music. “Let’s listen to the radio,” I said and turned it on. I hit the middle button, but there was no sound at all – just dead silence, which was very strange. That button was always set to our local rock ‘n roll station, and a loud-mouth deejay, a pop song, or some annoying commercial was blaring all the time. But now I heard nothing, and the ongoing silence was absolutely deafening.

It lasted long enough that I thought the radio was broken. Then, finally, someone in a solemn voice came on and said - “We have just received a report from the Boston Garden that the owner of the 76ers, Ike Richman, has collapsed at courtside.” It paused. “His condition is unknown.”

I quickly turned it off. I didn’t want to hear any more. We drove to my girlfriend’s house. As soon as we got there, I called home. My sister answered, and she sounded perky and happy, like she was having fun with her friends and everything was fine.

“Sybil, what’s happening?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing,” she replied lightly. “Everything’s fine. Listen, Mommy is leaving for New York soon, and she wants to see you before she goes. She’s waiting for you, so come right home.”

“Sure, I replied. “I’ll be right back.

“Great,” she said, cheerfully. Then in a slightly different tone, she added, “Come home now, David. Just come right home.” It was a minor change, but I heard it in a major way.

“This could be anything,” I said to Marty as we drove back. “It could be indigestion. Or maybe he fainted from the lack of air in the place.” I paused, then said the obvious. “Or he could be dead.”

Finally, we got to Spring Avenue, came over the hill, and as I started driving down it, I got a funny feeling in my stomach. I looked at my hands resting on the steering wheel and gazed at the hood of my father’s car.

That moment began one of the strangest experiences of my life. As soon as I felt that odd feeling in my stomach, my dream from the previous night began to come to life, in front of my startled eyes and it was uncanny. As I lived through it, I knew exactly what was coming next. I turned left onto Heather Road and drove past the cars that were parked in front of the house. I felt they were not a good sign, just like in the dream.

It was kind of like having a déjà vu, but very different. Déjà vu means “already seen,” and you feel like somehow, you’ve already lived through the experience that you’re currently having. It’s like remembering the present. But it’s usually quite vague, and only lasts for an instant.

There was nothing vague about the experience I was having. Quite the opposite. It was crystal clear. And it didn’t vanish at all. It just went on and on.

As I drove along, one part of my mind was normal, with regular thoughts and feelings. But another part knew exactly what was coming and wanted to change it. As I was about to turn into the driveway, that part said, “Park on the street. Don’t turn into the driveway. You know what’s coming if you park in the driveway. Don’t do it. Do something else!”

That seemed logical, so I decided to park on the street. But then I made a deeply disturbing discovery: I had no control at all over what was happening. Even though I had clearly decided to park on the street, I robotically turned into the driveway, shut off the engine and got out of the car.

“Don’t go in the back door. Go around front,” I told myself as I started walking. “Just go in the front door. Do not go around back. Don’t do it!” I thought about whether I had the key to the front door with me, but I knew it didn’t matter. I knew I would be going in the back.

It was like was watching a movie that had already been shot, but I was now living through it. And now, not only did I know what was coming, I also knew I couldn’t change it.

I got to the back door and walked into the kitchen. Sure enough, just like in the dream, my mother was on the phone with her back to me and never noticed me. Neither did my Uncle Ray, who was standing in front of the stove with his arms folded across his chest, looking down at the floor.

As I walked out into the hall, I knew it was time to go upstairs and face the news. And I knew it didn’t matter what I thought or did. What was coming was coming.

I got to the top of the stairs and looked down the hallway at the door to my sister’s room. I could see that it was closed and I walked over and put my right hand on the door. I looked at my hand and had the same thought I’d had in the dream. “Well, this is it.”

I pushed the door open. My sister was in the exact spot she was in the dream, surrounded by a few friends. She looked up at me and said the exact words from the dream. “Daddy’s dead. We don’t have a daddy anymore.”

And then I had the same thought that I had had in the dream. “This is terrible. But why are you talking like this? You’re twenty years old, and you sound like a four-year-old.”

I walked out into the hall and down to my room. I sat on my bed and became overwhelmed with the same intense anger at God.

“Why did you do this?” I thought in a rage of anger, confusion, and despair. “Why in the world did you have to do this?” And just like in the dream, I smashed my fist down on the end table next to my bed.

In my dream, at that point I woke up. This time, when my fist hit the table, the bizarre state of reality I had been in came to an abrupt end and I was snapped back into normal life. Except there was no such thing as normal anymore.

Instead of waking up from a nightmare and realizing it had only been a dream, my horrible nightmare was becoming reality. And the devastating truth of it was unmistakable. This was no dream. This was real life. And my father was dead.

Although it may be a bit abrupt, this is an ideal place for us to stop. So, as always, keep your eyes, mind and heart open and let’s get together in the next one.