I used to hate my dream of a visit from my late father. Waking up to the reality of my loss was brutal. I didn’t want to go there if it had to end.
Now it’s like re-reading a favorite book.
It always starts the same—in the cemetery. As we round the curve to their grave-sites, Daddy is sitting on his gravestone, one foot of the ground. He sees me with a got a cat-that-got-the-canary look on his face. He’s laughing. I run into his arms, crying with relief. He hugs me.
After all my grief, I’m not mad. I’m relieved. I feel that deep safety that little girls feel in their daddys’ arms. It’s all been a huge mistake. “Your mother’s been worried sick that you’ve been upset,” he tells me. They’re both very sorry for our heart-ache.
I don’t say “Duh.”
From there the dream varies. Sometimes we acknowledge the intervening years and he tells me how he and mom are proud of their grandchildren. Other times we talk about the trip they were on when they supposedly “died.” He tells me how awe-inspiring it was to see the glacier calving and a humpback breeching.
Many mornings I don’t remember the conversations I had with him. I’m bummed that the dream ended, but comforted that it will come again.
I wish I had it on DVD.
This post was based on a #FiveMinuteFriday Prompt
Every Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker, founder of “Five Minute Friday,” broadcasts a writing prompt, challenging writers to writer for five minutes only. In her words, “It’s not a perfect post, not a profound post, just five minutes of focused writing. “
This is a great writing exercise even if you’re not blogging your treasures (memories). Your spontaneous thoughts on a given subject can reveal your personality, daily life, beliefs, etc. If you are blogging, I encourage you to join in! If you want to connect on Twitter, use the hashtag #FiveMinuteFriday.
Today’s prompt: Visit