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There are only two explanations as to how this could be possible. The first is that I must be dreaming, but something about the weight of gravity that my dreams always lacked, suggests to me that this is reality. The other option is that my father is not dead. This explanation could not be true. I remember kissing him goodbye, right before they closed the casket. His face was cold and the cancer had left his cheekbones extremely visible. Yet, here my father stood before me with the chubbiness of his cheeks returned and his hair looking full and thick, unlike the last memory of it being thin and fragile. When I went to answer the doorbell, this may very well have been the last person I ever expected to see. 

My body seemed to process the miracle before my brain and for some reason, by the time I was evaluating how round my dad looked again, my arms were already wrapped tightly around him. The tears seemed to have formed before any words could and I pulled back just a little to make sure I did not imagine my father's face on some poor man who simply shared dad's body-type, pre-cancer. It was him alright. 

I inhaled his scent because after all these months since he passed, it was the one thing I realized I missed most about him. Thanks to his weekend softball games and poker nights, Dad had a stink that was just so unbearable at times, but not having it around, has made life feel pretty empty. 

As the breath traveled inward, I immediately felt alarmed. My silent panic seemed to perfectly coordinate its timing with my mother's distant yelp. Why did my dad smell like cigarettes? My dad has never smoked a day in his life. Those poker games did not produce the typical, society-decreeing offensive smells. They simply made dad smell like stale chips and farts because no one there ever smoked inside, and my dad also never drank alcohol. I know the terrible truth of the other scents because, every Friday after work, that's where you could find my dad and I. He would pick me up, we would drive to the friend hosting the game that night and dad would always sit at the end farthest from the door. I always sat to his left. I never played, but I was there to watch every game in it's entirety and the men took little to no time to feel comfortable swearing, drinking and farting in front of a young lady because that young lady's father had kept bringing her along. It was their 'guy's night' after all. 

My mom's abrupt sound signaled to me that she must have been standing some ten feet behind me, in the middle of our hallway, with a great view of my dad, standing in the doorway, and me, frozen with my arms wrapped around him. I heard her slowly approach and so I slowly let go. I distanced myself enough from dad and turned so I could get a good visual of both my parents standing, right in front of me. 

Mom's eyes immediately filled with tears but she kept her distance from dad, eyeing him questionably. 

"Hello Li," dad said in a near whisper. My heart felt like it jumped into my throat and I could barely contain my joy at the sound of hearing my dad's voice in person again. 

"James? J...James it that you? When did you... how did you...what?" 

My mom's confusion was expected, as it clearly should be mirroring mine at the sight of dad standing before us looking healthier than he ever has. However, her choice of words suddenly elevated my confusion immensely. Why was she calling my dad James? His name is Michael.

"Mom," I started with uneasiness as I looked more directly at her, "What are you talking about? It's dad! I don't know how... but it's dad! I told you! I told you God could do anything. He can bring people back to life". She looked at me and suddenly, she seemed to be the one panicking. She always over reacted. This is why I was always closer to dad. He understood my faith and supported it. He understood my hopefulness and always matched it. I missed him so much and finally, I would have someone who could understand me again, someone who would love me and treat me like spending time with me was the greatest commodity in the world. I did not want to deal with mom's atttitude right now and so, I simply turned my full attention back to dad. He had shifted his gaze downward and I suddenly felt shameful. Did I upset him? Have I changed too much? Is he disappointed in who I've become over this past year and a half? It didn't matter; I was too eager to tell him about everything. 

I yanked dad into the house and toward the dining room table, forcing him to join my action of sitting in the places we always sat. It was so fulfilling to see dad in his spot again. 

"Dad, I missed you so much. I heard our song on the radio today and I can't believe you're here now. Tony walks dogs now but he's happier. He should be home in like an hour. Did you just come back? Did you make a deal with God? How did this happen?" The words were flying out of my mouth so quickly that I barely noticed how uncomfortable dad was getting. Barely. 

"You have to leave right this second," my mom stated sharply. I could not believe the audacity of her. Why would she treat dad like this and why wasn't she more excited about this miracle? 

"I came to pay my respects. That's all." My dad was making no sense. Neither of my parents were making sense. 

"Can't you see what this is doing to her. You can't do this. He wouldn't have wanted you to." Mom stepped nearer to my side and laid a somewhat protective hand across my shoulder. 

"Li, I'm already here. Just let me say what I came to say." The more dad spoke, the more the unfamiliar smell filled the air. Cigarettes. Something about that made this all seem blurry. I decided to allow my mind to wonder but only about one thing: Why was dad calling my mom 'Li'? He called her many names, but never her actual one. 

'Rambo', because he said she was fierce and took crap from no one. 

'Ping' because it was the part of her full name (Li Ping Wong) that he found most endearing to use. 

'Honey' because it was just cheesy enough to sound romantic to strangers but secretly annoy my mother.

But never 'Li'. 

I wanted to cry because it was just so confusing. My dad seemed to be waiting for my mother's approval but she remained silent, draping her protection upon me. 

This must have been enough for dad as he stopped looking at my mom and began to shift his focus on me. 

"Kati, I know this is strange. I don't know where to start. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your father." I had to cry out of frustration. I wanted the explanation to be a dream now so that I could wake up, not have to make sense of the events and shake it off. 

"Dad, what are you talking about?"

"My name is James. I'm not your dad, I'm your uncle. I'm your father's twin." Reality seemed to be molding some logic into the situation now but I still didn't like what I was feeling, nor was I use to it. He continued, "We've met once. Your brother must've been about two or three, and you were just a baby. It's so nice to see you all grown up."

"That's enough, just get out of here."

"I've changed Li!"

"Get out of our house!"

"I want to know my niece and nephew. It's all I have left of my brother. Please." 

My father's favorite book in the Bible was the book of James. When I asked why, the explanation was because  the author of that book, James, is the actual brother of Jesus, the spawn of Mary and Joseph. He would say, "More than any other author of the Bible, James knew Jesus best". This man says he is not my father but rather, the man who knew him best. Yet, why don't I know him at all and why is my mother forcing him to leave before I even get the chance to? 

"Mom. What is going on?" The tears keep streaming because I can't just let him leave. I can't just be told to forget this happened, because I won't be able to. I'll always wonder and she'll never tell me, not if he leaves. I turn back to my uncle. "Why is she's telling you to leave?" 

"Because I..."

"NO!," my mother cuts him off. 

"Mom stop it! What the heck is happening?!"

"Kati I wasn't a good man. Your parents were right to keep me from being in your life."

Mom leaps uncharacteristically across the table at James and slaps him hard. He seems to be electrified into a standing position, slightly pushing dad's chair away. Mom stands back as well, with a burning anger I can't really say I've ever seen in her, or anyone else for that matter, before. She is staring him down but he seems determined to speak, knowing full well she won't allow him to. I can't think of anything to do but watch. Once again, I'm frozen. 

"I'll leave Li." My mother seems to drop her guard slightly. She blinks to the ground and back up at Uncle James. Her fierce look returns as the nickname of 'Rambo' finally makes sense to me. 

He backs away and turns to the front door. After a deep exhale, he begins to walk the ten paces it takes and reaches for the door. With his hand on the knob, he turns his head back towards us. 

"No one even told me he died, you know?" At this point, I'm not sure if my mom is really listening or planning to grab the umbrella from the holder nearby and chase him down the street before he continues, "My own brother gone and I didn't know it. They say twins are supposed to feel it but I didn't know he was gone until last week. I didn't even know what state you guys moved to or which city to find you in. I never looked, you know?" He looks away now, but I gaze harder at the stranger who looks like the person I loved most in the whole wide world. 

"I don't blame you and Mike for kicking me out of your lives. I was a miserable, sick drunk and I was in that room with Kati--she was just a baby--but I don't deny it; I was trying to hurt her bad. I was...I would have if you didn't barge in. I'm not the same. I don't expect you to believe me but I wanted you to know that I still loved him all these years. I've loved all of you. I've missed him. He was my best friend." 

Uncle James had kept talking and my mom, for some reason, wasn't stopping him. Maybe it was because she had been waiting to hear these words or maybe it was because he was so close to leaving that she didn't want to jinx it by yelling again. Uncle James took another deep breath and upon exhaling, finished his one-sided conversation.

 "Say hi to Tony...or don't. I won't  bother you again. I'm sorry. And remember I love you all. I love you." 

It was so nice hearing those three words from what sounded like my dad's voice. I wish I could have recorded it. I wanted to run after this man. This person who, like me, felt dad was their best friend. This person who could say things my dad use to say to me in the same voice he would say it with. This person who I can't label as anything more than a stranger. This person who said he was trying to hurt me as a baby. In what way? Why? 

So many questions in need of so many answers. So much love and friendship lost. This stranger and I, as dad would say, seemed to be on the exact same page; the problem was, we were in different books. 

Instinctively, I knew I was never meant to read my uncle's story and further, that my father would want me to listen to my mother. 

I think about that day every now and then. I can hear the "I love you" as clear as if it were being said two feet away. I pretend it was a dream and that it's my dad 

saying it. I think the reality is that it was my dad saying it. He came to say how much he misses his best friend and how much he loves me. I miss him too.