Bob Dylan’s song titled “This Dream of You” depicts a man who dreams of a lost love. This dream, which the man sometimes mistakes for reality, is what keeps him going through his otherwise miserable existence. Within the song, Dylan describes “nowhere cafe” which is less of a physical place and more of a state of mental existence.The cafe doesn’t give a location that can be found on a map, but if you have those kind of thoughts and feelings Dylan eludes to, then you know where the guy is. He’s right where you are. If you don’t have those thoughts and feelings then he doesn’t exist. It isn’t quite reality that we need to drive our existence, it is the life in the subconscious that can often offer the most comfort.

I honestly do not know how I managed to move my feet into that house; each step felt like walking toward the edge of a cliff with no intention of stopping at the edge. I had a sudden flash of memory where I saw my father’s tattoo that he had on his left shoulder. It was a picture of Vangogh’s starry night cascading across the top and an image of a rock ledge hovering beneath it. “Precipice” was  inscribed on the rock and beneath it all it said “standing on the edge as though you were protected.” I felt as if that ledge was the threshold to the apartment, and I was surely feeling anything but protected.

Kiera went right for her room, looking for some of her own things that she had kept there when she stayed. Keeping an eye and ear out for her, I stood int he middle of the master bedroom starring at the unmade bed. There was a water glass on the bedside table, a few books and magazines and a pair of shorts laying on the floor. It looked as if he had just gotten up for the day and had yet to complete the small tasks of cleaning. I half imagined him in the kitchen making a cup of coffee; or espresso with that fancy machine of his; I mean surely he was meant to come in and make the bed?

My phone buzzed me from my day dream; Kim. Well there’s a smart lady. Just because that bitch wasn’t allowing her in, didn’t mean she had to be “out” either. I answered and kept her on the phone while I wandered the house. She helped me to remember the things that were of value (both monetary and sentimental). We didn’t want to leave the house full of valuables with McCrabben lurking at the entryway. Unfortunately, everything I sought out was already gone, missing it seemed. Watches, jewelry, wallets, passport, I couldn’t find any of it. Worst of all, I had spent some time looking for Kim’s wedding ring and had come up empty handed on that end as well. After 25 years of marriage, no matter what the situation was, the ring still held a strong sentimental value and it was complete bullshit that all of these things were gone. Who the hell would come into a deceased person’s home and ransack it for anything worth money? Who in their right mind would think it at all appropriate to take a ring that represented love and companionship spread over 25 years. Who was the low life piece of shit that thought they were entitled to even be inside my fathers house, let alone have anything from it. I raged internally at McCrabben and her severely screwed antics. Would this girl stop at anything?

Nick asked me to pick out clothes for my father to be in for the service as he would not yet be cremated. I thought it strange that there would even be a reason to consider dress for someone we were not going to view, but nonetheless selected a shirt and pants from the closet. Kiera asked for the “wolf tie” that she had given him to go with the ensemble, and so we picked out the three items and handed them to Nick to deliver to the funeral home. I wondered if we were supposed to include undergarments and socks as well but felt instantly foolish as I pictured the mortuary make-up artist trying to put underwear on my father. Seriously though, do people do that, or is it just assumed that all deceased persons were going “commando?”

Nick was quite obnoxious throughout the ordeal and started to rush us out at the end. I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that there was a time limit placed on my visit to my dead father’s home; clearly I needed a guide book for this experience. Is there an Idiots Guide to Death Etiquette? Mental note, get it or write it because that shit was going to be a best seller for sure.

I called for Kiera and she came to me with a few articles of clothing, a stuffed animal and some nick knacks from her bedroom. Nick suddenly became more uncomfortable than he already was; if that was even plausible. Shifting his weight from side to side he started to speak to Kiera. His sentence began just as his last string of asshole words outside the house; “Kiera I am sorry but….” I cut him off with harsh “NO!” and a seething look to match. “Nick, do NOT finish that sentence. Kiera has a few personal items she IS taking with her, end of story.” Listen, I am all for playing by the rules, but when the rules are bullshit and the game is rigged, well then all bets are off. I couldn’t believe Nick wasn’t more on my team.  He never did finish that sentence and we left without another word.

We left the apartment and I heard the deadlock tumble with the turn of Nick’s key; locking up all of the answers to my many questions behind one simple door. Kim met me half way to the car and I wasn’t sure if she was crying from grief or rage, as either would have been acceptable. Her wet eyes locked with mine and although no words were exchanged, I could feel the comfort in her hug letting me know she was there for me. I guess I wrong before. I was standing on the edge, but I truly was protected.

I tuned a lot of the conversation out on the ride home, but I picked up that there was speculation as to who was in possession of the missing items. Of course McCrabben was a prime suspect, but apparently my “Uncle Joe,” I use the familial term loosely, had also been in the house. How odd that was being as he was not a person listed on the will. I would investigate that later, right now I just needed to rest my thoughts.

My phone buzzed in my purse and I saw a message from my friend that had played chauffeur on my first night home and the one that had bared witness to the horrific scene at the restaurant with McCrabben.  She asked how I was holding up. “Like a 400lb person trying to do a fucking pull up, ” I thought to myself. I told her I was managing and she quickly responded asking if I was in the mood for company and cocktails. Hmmmm on the eve of my father’s funeral, after learning the details of his will and estate were being controlled by a conniving psycho bitch on a power trip and having to enter the home alone with my sister because of her false sense of entitlement; add on to it some funeral preparations and picking out a “final outfit” and my answer was quick and sure. “Yes, both; please…and soon!”

She offered to resume her role as chauffeur again that night and I didn’t protest because let’s face it I had been driving on God’s will the last few times I had taken the wheel and I was sure he had other things to do and that my “free pass” was soon to expire.

Kim dropped me at Mimi’s with some final hugs and promises to call first thing in the morning. I kissed her parents goodbye and held Kiera in a warm embrace just a few seconds longer. “Protected”, I thought. Dad I really hope you are protecting her now; she needs you, we both do.

Inside, I spoke briefly to Mimi and Mom about the visit to the apartment, trying not to give too much detail because I feared falling back into that sense of uncontrollable rage once again. I told them about my meeting with a friend and promised to be both careful and home early.

I went upstairs to change into something a bit more friendly and less depressed looking; no easy feat with a bag full of Texas clothing when it was January in Rochester. Layers were really my only option. This will be a nice break from the events of the day, I thought. A few drinks and laughs was just the medicine I needed. I heard the honk from the driveway and grabbed my purse. I gave kisses all around as I left the house. I thought it was going to be a relaxing evening with a friend, therapy via girl talk and liquid tranquilizer.  What I hadn’t planned on was breaking and entering, a close call with an arrest, and maybe something resembling theft; but then again, nothing in the last 72 hours had bared even the slightest resemblance to anything I had planned. So why start now?