Dear Daddy,

I had that dream again.  I came to the house to check on something for Mama.  It seemed she had a duct leak somewhere in the ceiling and drops of water were dripping down on a little desk in the room, ruining God knows what. There were people there, cleaning or working on things.  I don’t know which.  But as I rounded the corner in the hallway to come into the living room, there you were again, just like the last time I dreamed about Mama and the house.

You were sitting in your chair with your slippered feet propped up and coffee in your hand.  I know it was my imagination, just wishful thinking or even my eyes playing tricks on me.  But you were there!  Your blue eyes bright and smiling, you face ruddy with health and your brown curly hair thick and slicked back as only you could wear it.  That spotless white t-shirt and blue jeans without a flaw completed my image.  There you sat, as if the last 20 years had never happened!

Yes, that’s what it had to be, just my mind playing a horrible trick on me. I was seeing you there because I wanted to see you there so badly. I closed my eyes and listened to your voice as you talked and laughed and I waited for the memory to fade away.  But it didn’t!

I opened my eyes and  you were still there, and Mama was just sitting in her spot smiling and looking like the happiest woman on earth.  Another worker made her path through the living room and passed right between yours and Mama’s chairs, nodding her head at both of you.

I was so shocked, I didn’t even speak to you, even though I had years of words I wanted to say, hugs I wanted to give and receive, and sweet whispered encouragement I needed to hear from you and no one else.  I walked right by you, trying hard to ignore my obvious insanity and not look where you sat. My logic insisted I was having a breakdown.  Facts were facts, after all.

You were gone from Earth in a blink of an eye, your body devastated for years by a cruel and relentless disease.  A weaker man couldn’t have fought as well as you did nor would he have had the inner strength to press on, even when it seemed God had forsaken you. You never wavered in your belief.  You never doubted God’s plan for you and for your family.  You were our rock and shelter, no matter what you were forced to endure.

But even the strongest of wills must eventually succumb to a frail body. You passed peacefully after a week of Hell, hooked up to more wires and tubes than I have ever seen on a single person.  You moved on to your well-deserved reward, but a piece of me was forever ripped out. I was now a fatherless child even though I have children of my own.

I couldn’t help but stare, and yes!  You were there, patting your cheek with one hand as if you, too, couldn’t believe it was full and smooth instead of sunken and wrinkled.  I asked Mama to follow me to the other room, but I never said a word to you.

“How can this be?” I demanded of her, “You see him sitting there too, don’t you?”

“Yes, Debra!  He’s here!” She was beaming with unmeasured joy and happiness. “I don’t know how, but I know he’s here and it’s not our imagination!”

“But how is this possible?” I asked and started to cry.  “This doesn’t make sense.  He can’t be here.”

“But he is!” she said as she held me by my shoulders and then hugged me tight as I sobbed uncontrollably, now believing the miracle I was seeing.

Then I woke up.

It’s the worst dream I’ve ever had.  It’s something inside of me that feels I should suffer, I guess. I think I’ve accepted your loss, and then my mind does a whammy on me, plays a cruel trick.

I live with guilt and I know it. I wasn’t the best daughter and I said things that I will regret for the rest of my life, and I wasn’t there in your life at times because I didn’t think you really wanted me to be.  I allowed my sisters to tell you things that simply weren’t true and I never defended myself.  I foolishly assumed you would believe them over me, so I didn’t bother to try.  I even listened to some of the mean words they told me you said about me, and I took them to heart, hardening that heart against you, the very man by which I measured all other men.  How stupid of me! Now I regret not just going to you directly.  I see now that you would never have done that.  You loved me and you were proud of me, no matter what.

But in my dream, I still don’t have the words to say.  I stare at you in shock, then leave the room to ask Mama if I’ve really gone crazy.  Both times I’ve dreamed this, she assures me that you are really there, but I know it’s too good to be true, so I wake up crying that wailing, heartbroken cry of pain from one who has lost someone they deeply loved, someone who made the world a better, brighter place.

I am too old to believe in Lazarus miracles, even though I did pray that God would come down and heal you as you lay dying.  I wanted to believe he would make an exception for you. I want to believe that God is here for each of us and isn’t too wrapped up in running a universe to care about the specks of dust we are. I want to believe it’s all gonna be ok.

As I sit here mulling over my dream of you, I wonder if you are somehow sending me a message.  Mama tells me each time, “He’s really here!” and she’s so happy, not just holding it together for our sake and her own sanity.  She’s happy beyond measure.

Do I hope that you are here watching over her, making sure she’s safe?  Do I read it as a message of faith that you are still in our lives in spirit, no longer suffering from the frailties of your human form? Is it a sign that you’re happy and content with the legacy you left behind?  I don’t really know at this point.

I do know one thing, however.  The next time I have this dream, you and I are going to have a very long talk.  I miss you, Daddy.

With love always,

Your eldest daughter Debra