I have been waiting exactly 1 year and 32 days for my deceased father to visit me – I had begged him to before we stopped the machines that technically ended his life last June 25. And he finally came to see me. At exactly 2:41 AM this morning, I was startled awake by the dream that my father had entered the room in his typical nonchalant way, saying “Hello” as he held his hands in the air with palms open, smile across his face. I raced to him and put my arms around him, and practically squeezed him to death (no pun intended). He looked like he always looked, in a blue and white checked button-up short-sleeve shirt and jeans. I cried, “You came back, you came back – I knew you would!” I was happier than I can describe.
And then I was awake.
I immediately began sobbing, knowing that he had come to visit and I’d just ended it by waking up. “No, no, I’ve been waiting so long, and now it’s over, after only a few seconds.” Happiness and sadness were jumbled together in a heart-wrenching tangle. I was choked by tears that I couldn’t control. I thought that maybe if I went back to sleep, he would return. And I tried. But I guess he was only allotted one visit, and it was gone.
I truly believe that the deceased come back to visit their loved-ones through dreams. Not as part of the ridiculous, “flying-like-a-bird” or “fighting-like-a-Ninja” dreams. But in the quiet dreams where thoughtful conversations take place. Where the departed can ask if you’re OK, and let you know that it will be allright. Although I wish it would have lasted longer, I’m glad that I could see him again. And I truly believe that he was letting me know he’s still there, watching over me like he always did; that a father will never stop being a father.
And at least, for now, I’m happy.