Hey, Dad. A few weeks ago, Shana wrote a wonderful blog to you about the holidays and how much we missed you at Christmas. Toward the end, as he she’s explaining how I’m handling your death well but miss you greatly, she asked you to continue stopping by in my dreams.
It struck me that you’d been in a couple of dreams leading up to Christmas Day. I couldn’t remember the details, but I remember one in which you were fine and another that wasn’t especially pleasant.
The other dream you were in came less than two weeks after you died, and I wrote about it the next day. I felt at the time that you visited that night to let me know you were doing just fine in the afterlife.
I had one last night was a little of both. It appeared you were still sick, but it was Christmas and you were alive and enjoying the day. I sensed that you were a little irritated that I kept asking, “How are you doing, Dad?”
People who are far more intelligent than I’ll ever be are more equipped to analyze the meaning of these dreams. But they are my dreams, and I know you’re going to visit as long it takes to make sure I’m doing OK.
Loss is something we all share. I’m reminded of this virtually every day when people ask how I’m doing. I’m also reminded of it every time a friend or family member experiences it. Unfortunately, if feels like we’ve been at a funeral every other day in the last year.
Among the interactions I’ve had with several friends and co-workers now is one about the afterlife. We may never know all the details of what somebody experiences and sees as they’re dying and after they’ve passed, but I got a glimpse of it in your final days and have in the five months since you died.
One moment that gave me goosebumps came in the last week of your life. On one of the final nights that you could get out of bed by yourself, I woke up while sleeping next to you to find that you were sitting on the edge of the bed and making a motion with your fingers like you were hitting something.
Though we’d grown somewhat accustomed to seeing this kind of behavior toward the end of your life, I couldn’t help but ask what the heck you were doing. “I really don’t know, son,” you said.
I helped you back to bed and we went back to sleep. I thought nothing of this exchange until the next day when I spoke to my wife.
“I wanted to ask you about your Dad … was he up at around 2 a.m.?” Shana asked.
“Now that you mention it, he was up around that time, but he gets up a few times a night. Why do you ask?” I responded.
“Well, I was in bed and I heard some clinging in the room,” she said. “It sounded like somebody was hitting the handles on our dresser.”
I still get chills thinking about that. There were several times during his final few days that the old man would look up to a corner of the room where nobody was with a look of surprise and smile or reach out. I like to think somebody, maybe Grandpa, was beckoning Dad to join him.
And, then, in his final moments, as my sister-in-law sat with you, Tricia quietly said, “Ernie Bill, will you please open the window in the bathroom?”
Dumbfounded, I asked why. “Because it’ll let his soul out, and I think he’s ready.”
I quickly opened the window and came back to the bed. Within seconds, you were gone. At least from this life. But I hope you keep visiting as long as you want in my dreams.
Love and miss you, Dad.