Last night one of my favorite things came. A summer storm. I love them because the wind is always whipping around making the trees sing, and the thunder that comes sounds like nothing in the world outside a cacophony of Harleys moving at high speed in the sky. It always reminds me of hearing dad come home as a kid, with his bike's pipes echoing off the valley and funneling down to us miles before he got there.

My head has me spinning just a bit. Grief is a screwed up thing. Last night I had one of those dreams that when you wake up it felt like someone important to you was talking to you. In my case it was my dad. It was a chaotic dream, and in it at a certain point I was helping my dad walk avoiding nasty things on the ground etc. Tryig to keep him moving. I was so concerned about him not falling or stepping in anything that could make him sick, but all he did was cling to me, strangely not weighing me down, and tell me not to do what he did. Over and over. "Don't make my mistake" Now earlier in the dream I was at a doctor and i had gotten this awful medical exam where i had failed all of these things. I kept telling him I am not him, I have never done the things he did. I will be fine. "No you don't understand do not do what I did."

"Don't do what I did..." His voice was not angry, it was not desperate or in pain like it was when he was ill or in those last years. It was filled with concern in a light way. Like he just needed to tell me something. Something he wanted me to hear.

Lately I have not been saddened by his passing. I actually have felt clear and not in pain or wracked with the guilt from not having been able to save him. Now I get this. I have never dreamed of him, not since he died. I usually have full control of my dreams, but for some odd reason tonight I just went with the flow, and I had been convinced I was not dreaming. "Don't do what I did..." I am now asking myself what this was? I can choose to decide with the anniversary of his death so close at hand it was nothing other then the vibrations of grief waving over me one more time. I can choose for it to be an old memory swimming in my subconscious taking a rare opportunity to surface.

But that's not what I think it was. I do not talk about my belief often. I find religious speak to be both invigorating and despicable. I do not like how people including myself judge others on this topic. We are often so easily swayed by the foundations our childhood is lain in, its so much safer to hide there then to listen to others without judgement. I will also honestly say I am agnostic meaning I know there is something, but I refuse to define it. In my opinion our perspective is so limited attempting to understand anything remotely capable of being a creator is beyond us. Comprehending its thoughts intentions or capacity is beyond us. In my judgmental moments I often think any-one who does define it is creating direction for themselves so they have something to cling to in their mortal point of view. I am jealous of people of faith for that very reason... I have never had that thing to cling to.

I do believe there is something though, I have felt things and seen things and would be foolish to say otherwise. Now I look at this and I find myself taking it as a message. Maybe it is because I so desperately want to, maybe it was a message something telling me I have a cross road, or have been on a cross road for some time. "Don't do what I did..."

There are a few things I have not forgiven dad entirely for. I have made peace with who he was as a person, who he was as my father and who he was to others. His deeds in my case were always bright but not so for everyone. I would never commit the things he did on the darker side those things are beyond me, this was not about that. There are 2 things that he did which I share with him. He had a fondness for self indulgence of things he called "Bad for me" of those really its only sweets we share, that doesn't seem to be important enough to speak to me about.

In 1999 I set aside my artist hopes in an endeavor to take of people I love.  Later on this has proved to be my most epic of regrets. Since beginning again I have felt more whole then I have in over a decade.

In 1992 my dad was working on a business rebuilding houses as a contractor. He was very good at it, but in a very dark moment my mother caused he gave up, and went back to his old profession. This lead the entire family into a colossal unraveling. There were things prior but for my experience this was the turning point. He gave up...

He died 2 weeks before my son was born, and so early for my daughter she only remembers him through my stories and the vague memory of sitting on his lap and tugging on his beard. He gave up, couldn't make it to meet my son. I have not entirely forgiven him for this.

He gave up. The man who spent his entire life as a father for me trying to teach me to fight for myself. (I was shy and introverted as a kid.) He gave up.

If I choose its a message then its up to me to interpret it... He gave up, I gave up..........................once.

Right now a bunch of things are in the works. My post do not show it because of the nature of the projects, but I can feel it. A turn is approaching. I am working on Inheritance with James Schumacher III, I am killing it on Vampire of the Lost highway for Outpouring comics for Don Smith. Damage Inc. has 3 issues of script done, and Schu and I are discussing some bad ass things for it. Nod's first issue script is friggin amazing. there is so much that could happen...

"Jamie don't do what I did..."

They will have to pry my dreams out of my cold dead hands.