My dad passed away suddenly and unexpectedly in 1989. He was so young and we were so unprepared.
A few days after he left this world, I was hoping and praying for a glimpse of him, perhaps in a vivid memory or even in a dream. I am told that one of our biggest fears when we lose a loved one is that we won’t remember their face, or the sound of their voice.
On this night, nine of us remained in my house, the funeral had just passed and no one really wanted to split up this dynamic of metaphorically clinging to each other for fear that the sense of loss would overwhelm us.
I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, truly believing I was awake when I heard someone walk into my room from the boys’ bedroom across the hall where my mom was sleeping. At first I believed it was one of my family members, one of the living. So it did not frighten me at all.
He was wearing a peach-colored shirt and brown pants, always a sharp dresser! He came over to my bed and looked down at me and said, “Angie, take care of your mom for me. She will need someone to watch over her now.” Only three people in this world have ever been allowed to call me ‘Angie’, my dad, my uncle Zio Cosmo and my physician of 30 plus years. It made this encounter feel just a little bit ‘spookier’.
I have never forgotten this dream.
A few days later, I was dropping Alex off at the school playground and as I rounded the corner to go back to my car, I almost bumped into … ‘my dad’! We hugged. It was such a wonderful feeling and I figured he must have wanted another look at his grandson – and then I woke up!
I carried that feeling throughout my day and it made me smile.
Several weeks later I was standing out in front of our house by the mailbox and I saw him again, at a distance, across the cul de sac. I walked over to hug him, remembering how good that had felt the last time, and those of you that know me, know how much I love to hug - but it was as if he were made of air more than substance this time and then I realized - I was dreaming.
I eventually sat down and told my mom about the three dreams and she told me that my dad was likely ready to leave this plane and move on, that’s why he felt less substantial as time passed. She said this was a very good thing. This is what she believes.
Her words gave me comfort, but they also made me sad.
I believe dreams are gifts. Sometimes they are lovely, sometimes they seem so real and sometimes they feel like clouds or puffs of smoke that disappear by morning , but they often carry a meaningful message … would you agree?