Happy Father’s Day, Dad

Let me tell you about yesterday’s dream. I’m standing at a door. Whatever has happened up to this point is unimportant, because now there is a door and I must go through it. My hand rests on the knob and shakes and turns. The door opens. I am looking for someone, someone else, so when I see you there, for a moment I’m speechless. Grandma is sitting next to you on the edge of the floral bed in Grandma’s room, and so is my aunt. And neither seems to know you’re there. They look up as I enter, but they exist in a dimension of silence.

“How are you here?” I ask you. “You can’t be here.”

You don’t say anything because dead people can’t speak. But you look at me, and you smile, and you’re wearing that oatmeal sweater you liked. I liked. And for the first time in a year, I get to hug you and it feels so real.

Sometimes the universe gives us big things made to look like small things.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.

I miss you more every day.

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Comments
One Response to “Happy Father’s Day, Dad”
  1. Sometimes those dream hugs are all we have. But they’re so much more precious for it.

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