I awoke from a dream in which I had been talking with my mom. In my dream, I turned and looked to the side and there was my Dad, just sitting next to me, looking at me and smiling slightly as if he were still alive and close.
This was not like the dreams I have written about before where the veil between this world and the next seemed temporarily lifted so that I could have those final conversations with my father. This was in many ways just an ordinary, bizarre dream: I think I was in a desert, riding on a ski lift of up side of a mountain.
Unlike those dreams that followed his burial so closely, I didn’t even try to talk with dad. I've had ten years to figure out that he is gone. I get it. I sobbed while I talked to my mom steadily, knowing dad wasn’t there, and that he wasn’t real, and that I couldn’t talk to him, and that my life had to carry on in the worlds of both the sleeping and awake. So glad to see him yet again, and so sad knowing it was for but a moment.
I didn’t look away until he disappeared from his desert ski lift seat, dissolving into distant memories as easily as he had appeared. I knew he would go, and that I would have to wake up, but it still broke my heart from start to finish. I never tried to touch him or talk to him. I just...remembered him more poignantly than I usually do, and that was enough. It had to be.
That’s why I woke up crying early this morning.
Someday, when I truly wake up, all the best dreams will be real. Comfort one another with these words.