I stayed in bed for a little while after waking. I wanted to go back to sleep and keep dreaming; to return to that place where only a glass door separated us so that I could open it and talk to him.
As this day has progressed I can't get his smiling, goofy expression from the dream out of my head. I've actually giggled aloud a few times picturing his effort to make me laugh through that door.
I know that dreams aren't typically messages, but this one--I think--was Dad's way of assuring me that he's having a blast, that he feels great (no more heart or breathing problems) and that his energy is back to what it was when he was entertaining us with a game of kickball in the backyard after working all day in the hot summer sun.
Daddy used to tell me, "That'll feel better when it quits hurtin,'" if I was bruised or bleeding. In this case, I don't think his absence will ever quit hurtin', but there's such sweet solace in God's promise that I'll see him again.
If you have children, chances are you'll leave them behind one day. Let's be the kind of parents they'll miss--or maybe even dream about sometime.
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