My father died on Christmas Day. It's been six months. Last night I had my first very vivid dream of my father. I saw him and he looked like he did in his prime. I would guess between 30-50 years old. He was donning his hunting beard. In my dream I knew he was dead. I saw him coming to me and I asked him, "Dad, how are you?"
He replied in his usual cowboy understated tone of, "No complaints."
I then asked if I could give him a hug. Dad complied. After the hug I went on to introduce him to my daughter's sixth grade teacher as it was the end of the year and we were cleaning out her locker.
In the same dream I was explaining to two women about the untimely death of my cousin, Karey, who died in a car accident in 1983 in rural North Dakota. I was telling them about her death, and the hair on my arms stood straight up. I said, "She's here."
Again, I woke up exhausted. I slept, but I did not rest. My dreams had other plans.
No comments:
Post a Comment