I dream about my dad. A lot.
I have for years now, though even in my dreams he unfairly suffered from the same dementia that plagued him in reality. He was always slow-moving and confused, just like in real life. I suppose those dreams sprang from deep feelings of sadness and stress, or remembrance of how he was when last I saw him.
After he passed, I dreamed only once that he had died. I woke up in the middle of the night sweaty and sad but unable to actually cry out. And then things began to change. The time after that, the dad in my dreams was still somewhat confused, but he was in the driver's seat of the car, the rest of us his passengers. To my relieved dream-self, that meant he was well enough to drive, something he hadn't done in years.
But last night - last night was by far the best. Last night's dream was the reason I'm writing this. Last night, in my deepest sleep, my mom and I arrived back at their house to find a big party raging. She hadn't thrown it, and I hadn't thrown it. Dad had thrown the party. For us. And then, as dreams often go, Dad and I were magically transported to the inside line of a Dairy Queen. This is my favorite part, because Dad and I used to nurse our respective ice cream addictions together frequently. Together, alone, Daddy and I read the menu and tried to decide what type of Blizzards to order. There may have been some shred of memory-loss clinging to him, some indication that something was wrong. I don't really remember that part. Because finally, for once, the dream was not about how sad my dad's final stage of life was. It was about ice cream, and my favorite ice cream-loving buddy.
I have for years now, though even in my dreams he unfairly suffered from the same dementia that plagued him in reality. He was always slow-moving and confused, just like in real life. I suppose those dreams sprang from deep feelings of sadness and stress, or remembrance of how he was when last I saw him.
After he passed, I dreamed only once that he had died. I woke up in the middle of the night sweaty and sad but unable to actually cry out. And then things began to change. The time after that, the dad in my dreams was still somewhat confused, but he was in the driver's seat of the car, the rest of us his passengers. To my relieved dream-self, that meant he was well enough to drive, something he hadn't done in years.
But last night - last night was by far the best. Last night's dream was the reason I'm writing this. Last night, in my deepest sleep, my mom and I arrived back at their house to find a big party raging. She hadn't thrown it, and I hadn't thrown it. Dad had thrown the party. For us. And then, as dreams often go, Dad and I were magically transported to the inside line of a Dairy Queen. This is my favorite part, because Dad and I used to nurse our respective ice cream addictions together frequently. Together, alone, Daddy and I read the menu and tried to decide what type of Blizzards to order. There may have been some shred of memory-loss clinging to him, some indication that something was wrong. I don't really remember that part. Because finally, for once, the dream was not about how sad my dad's final stage of life was. It was about ice cream, and my favorite ice cream-loving buddy.
