Essays & Articles
Hug
from Dad
My husband, Don, says he never dreams. Although, once in a while, he'll
wake with a slight recollection of some abstract nighttime memory.
Personally, I dream frequently. My mother tells me (and it has become
something of a standard saying in our family) that other people's dreams
are boring. Yet, every once in a while a dream will impact the dreamer -
and its contents will touch other people.
Most dreams are an obvious jumble of the
previous day's events, or an abstract collection of the dreamer's hopes
or fears. But some - according to some people - might be a glimpse into
a past life or a visit from someone who is no longer on this plane.
Those who subscribe to this belief might say that this latter type of
dream has a different quality than the average garden variety dream.
Such is not easy to forget. Of course my husband, Don, would probably
say that all of this is absurd. But what do you expect from someone who
never remembers his dreams?
As crazy as it may sound, after my father
died I hoped that he would visit me in my dreams. I did dream about him
occasionally. Yet, they were normal dreams and I never imagined that
they were even remotely spiritual. Several years elapsed, and I no
longer made the silent wish for Dad to visit me.
Then it happened. Don and I had taken over
the management of my parents' business. There were major decisions to be
made and I frequently butted heads with Dad's business partners. At
times I wondered if I was making the right choices. Then he came to me.
My dream's location was the interior of our
restaurant. Different people were seated at the long tables, and many of
them were quietly questioning my choices, and being somewhat critical. I
looked to the door, and in walked my father. He wasn't sick, as the last
time I'd seen him, yet robust, in his prime, as he was a decade before
his death.
The moment he walked in I was aware of the
fact that he had been dead for sometime, and as I literally flew into
his arms in greeting I thought gee, these people are going to wonder why
dad's here - since they all knew he had died sometime ago. Yet it didn't
seem strange to see him, I didn't question it.
But was I glad to see him! He hugged me so
tightly - I felt like a protected little girl again. And then Dad spoke
to me - but not in spoken words, in thoughts. He told me that I was
doing good, that I was making the right choices, and not to worry about
the others, to simply continue going by my own instincts. All of this he
said without speaking. It was like telepathy.
I continued to hold Dad tightly, as if my
life depended on it, so glad to see him, to touch him. Then I gradually
began waking up. I could feel my arms wrapped around my own body, and
Dad's presence seemed to drift away as I woke. My mind's state neared
wakefulness and I attempted somehow to keep myself in the sleep like
state, just so I could be with Dad a moment longer. But, I was in my
bed, it was daybreak, my arms were folded across my chest, and I broke
into uncontrollable sobs. The sensations and emotions of that dream were
profound. My sobs woke Don, and he attempted to soothe me, certain I had
just awoken from a nightmare.
Yet, Dad had surely visited me, and Don
could not begin to understand. He is a realist. After I assured Don that
I was okay, I quickly put on my robe and rushed over to my mother's
home, which was next door.
I shared the experience with mom. She
cried. Then we called my sister, and she cried. "Daddy visited you." my
sister Lynn said with certainty, between her muffled sobs.
I agreed with her. Perhaps Don might say it
was simply an ordinary dream. Yet, to me it was not ordinary.