A Visit from my Dad
Dreams, Dementia, and Death.
My dad came to visit me last night. But it’s probably not what you think.
I live in Burbank, California — almost thirty years now. My dad lives 3000 miles away in East Greenwich, Rhode Island. He’s been there for almost all of his eighty-eight years. He’s a great guy. Loving. Caring. Good sense of humor, and always leaves people with a smile. But he’s also the kind of dad that will seldom call, much less come for a visit.
So, I was quite surprised last night when he did.
It was a normal night. In bed by ten. Read for almost an hour. Then lights out, turned on my side with a pillow between my knees, and fell asleep — soundly.
Long after midnight and deep into REM sleep I felt someone sit on the edge of my bed, a hand resting on my shoulder. My heavy eyes squinted open to find my dad calmly sitting by my side.
“Dad? W-what’s going on?”
A tender smile crossed his face and he spoke softly. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay.”
I tried to force my consciousness back to the present as the fog of sleep clouded my thoughts. Is this real? Am I awake? Is he here? What’s he talking about?
