I was 6 months pregnant when Dad passed away suddenly April 10, 2010. Since his passing, he’s visited me 4 times in dreams. 3 dreams, immediately following his Wake & funeral. The 4th was today.
We weren’t always close. He was an alcoholic when I was younger. I resented that & the time alcohol took away from us. In my late 20’s, Dad cleaned himself up; he completely stopped drinking. In my early 30’s, I took the time to study him – his past, mostly. I finally understood why he drank. And I chose to forgive him.
He rarely spoke of his abusive father & mother. His childhood was snippets of stories that he carefully chose to tell. It was hazy snapshots of a child that would learn on his own what it was to be a man. This would create a bond in us that goes deeper & further than Heaven.
He had a tendency to visit me at unexpected times when he was alive. He’d show up with a distinct huff & then laugh & then hug me.
His Wake was like a dream gone terribly awry. I was numb. I remember sitting at the foot of his coffin – greeting everyone with an abnormally happy countenance. After each person passed me, I’d look back at Dad; reassured that I could still see him. He was gone, of course, but I was still in shock.
The day of his funeral was unusually bright & sunny. I walked into our family church & was hit by the sight of his closed coffin. I broke down & sobbed.
That night, I cried myself to sleep. 3 am, he came to me – not in a dream, but his ghostly presence. I awoke to him calling my name. Through half opened eyes, I saw him standing at the foot of my bed. As soon as I sat up to see him better, he slowly vanished.
The other dreams in the days following his death, were of him coming to tell me he loved me.
Today’s dream was different. I got my haircut & I remember distinctly thinking “I wonder what Dad would think of my haircut?” It was a sharp thought that came & went. I settled down for my afternoon nap & thought nothing more of it.
He’s wearing his favorite coat. The thick, blue jean Carhartt coat. Why is he taking the blinds down from the kitchen door?
He turns & fusses with them, but doesn’t see me. Mom is doing dishes. I’m on my way downstairs with a load of laundry. My brother’s cleaning the back porch.
It’s just how Dad liked it. Harmony. A symphony, really. A family moving in unison, without fuss or muss.
He sits in my chair at the kitchen table & that’s when I stop to stare at him. He bypassed his Captain’s chair.
Does he see me?
Wait. Is this before his death? Is he still alive? Is this a continuation, of sorts?
God? How long do I get him before he goes back? No, don’t tell me. I’ll just end up crying.
I touch my hair & he looks up.
“Stop asking questions & just enjoy the visit.”
His lips never moved, but the message was as loud as him saying it
I woke up. The nap was over.
I had to sit & really think this time. The dream was so vivid, it was as if I could slip into the kitchen & still see him sitting at the kitchen table. And then I smiled.
This time when Dad visited, it was when my son was born & now 7 years old. He not only saw my hair – he saw his grandson who resembles him in so many ways.
I absolutely adore his visits. They used to make me overwhelmingly sad, because I thought it was the last. Each one. Now having my 4th visit (dream), I’m comfortable in the fact that Dad has a happy niche in Heaven with a squeaky door that allows him to visit me on Earth. Always unexpected & forever welcome.
Dad: 9/8/1936 – 4/10/2010
Photo credit: Random “Kitchen table photography” from Pinterest. Original photographer unknown.
~KendraLynn 4/7/2010 ©