In my dream I am lying on my bed. It's Saturday morning and the Youngest Unnamed One has come in to beg for a chicken bisquit breakfast. We are lying there laughing when suddenly my Sister Flea pokes her head around the corner of the bedroom door.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, surprised.
She explains she and her friend are going to another psychotherapy conference and stopped by to say hello. "Hey, did you see Dad yet?" she asks.
"What?"
"Dad," she explains patiently. "He's in there." She gestures to the Youngest's room.
I get up, round the corner, and there stands my father. He's wearing his plaid pajama bottoms and a maroon t-shirt. He's just standing there, grinning and opening his arms to hug me. He is very happy, like we're sharing a delightful reunion or a secret surprise. But he's also very, very pale I think.
"Dad, it's you!" I fly into his embrace but as I do I suddenly realize this can't be happening. Dad is dead. The pain this realization brings twines around the joy at seeing my father, at having him back. I am losing him, I think. I have lost him. I am sobbing as he strokes my hair. "Oh," he soothes. "Ohhh."
He knows I know. He is only here to let me know he's fine and really, really happy. He's here to let me know he is always with me. He doesn't say this. Somehow this is already in my head. But it's too late. I am waking myself up with my crying and he is fading, fading, fading away again.
1 comment:
Hi Nancy,
I know these kind of dreams are painful when you do wake up and realize that they are still gone. But on the other side, there is the knowledge that you know he must be thinking of you too and worrying about you, wanting you to know that he is okay so that you can be okay as well. I strongly believe that there has to be more to these kind of dreams than just the settlings of an over-active mind. He is there with you too, remember that.
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