The morning is cold and the wind outside is roaring through the treetops. My last dream before the alarm was of my dead father...
...he called me on the phone to tell me that the “procedure went well,” as if he was calling from a hospital. I recognized his voice right away. I asked him if he knew the month or the year and he stammered and finally admitted, “No.” I asked him how he was able to make this call (implying, Hey dude, you are dead); again he didn’t sound certain or avoided the question. Everything would be okay, he said, “the answer was in the air.” Jessica was waving at me to get off the phone because she wanted to talk to her mother, who was on call waiting, I guess. I was thinking, How often does my father call, lady?
Prior to that, the dream was of happy times with Jessica and the children.
When I woke up I felt a little spooked, because even in the dream I wasn’t certain that voice was my father’s. I’ve dreamed of him before, but never that his ghost (or some other entity) contacted me. Once I was on my feet and headed for the coffee pot, my thoughts went to the story of Saul’s visit to the witch of Endor. Not that anyone had done any conjuring, nor was the message of the dream specific or clear at all. It was just weird.
Had he lived, my dad would have been 59 years old on this Wednesday, 12/19.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
