Some of these posts are basically my way of journalling. It's becoming part of my coping mechanisms with grief.
So today was my birthday. It was a great day full of food, cake, the Beatles, and a waterfall hike. The last few years, since I've been away at school, one of the things I looked forward to the most was a phone call from my dad. He would call me and just tell me how much he loved me. His catch phrase was, "I just want you to know that I love ya." This year, I don't get that phone call. This marks the first year of my entire life that I haven't received a single call from him. It sucks. It puts a knot in my stomach as I type this. I just want a phone call from my dad. I imagined all day during the course of whatever Johnny (my husband) and I were doing, that he would call me and ask how we were doing. He would want to talk to Johnny because he loves Johnny, and then he would tell me he wished he could be here with us or ask when we would come home next.
I wish I could have told him I spent the insane amount of $35 on the Beatles "White Album" at Barnes and Noble. He would have laughed at me. I wish I could have told him I ate breakfast at this fancy restaurant and we squeezed our own orange juice. He would have told me he's going to start eating more fruit and I would tell him I know he's just saying that. I would have told him he's still gonna get Diet Coke everyday at McDonald's. I wish I could have told him about how Johnny cracked my phone screen while taking pictures at the waterfall. I wish I could have told him that as I was speaking to him, tiny pieces of glass were cutting my face haha thanks Johnny. I wish I could have told him how the entire crowd at Turtle Bay sang "Happy Birthday" to me before Johnny and his band performed. I wish he could have come back just for one day to spend my birthday with us. That was my wish the entire day, but I knew it wasn't possible.
I've been having lots of dreams. Dreams where my dad somehow works his way into them. One in particular, I remember very vividly.
I was in a large apartment building far away from where I live. I was knocking on doors and no one was answering. I got to the door at the end of the hallway. I knocked. The door opened and there was my dad. I immediately ran into his arms. He was wearing the same thing he was wearing when he died. His green, soft pajama pants and his white garment shirt. He was thicker, he had muscles, and he looked healthy. Healthier than I had seen him in a very long time.
I asked, "Dad, what are you doing here?"
He said, "What do you mean, what am I doing here?"
"Dad, I thought you were dead."
And he answered laughing, "What are you talking about? I'm right here."
For a while I had times of doubt. That he wasn't around, that maybe I wouldn't see him again. I have a firm belief that there is life beyond what we live here on earth and that God is waiting for us. I know I'll see my dad again, but sometimes I can't wrap my head around it and I feel overwhelmingly sad.
This dream was like an answer to all of my concerns. I had been so sad that I couldn't feel him near me, but that dream told me that he's "right here."
I'm glad I have dreams like that to hold on to. It's like he gets to come visit me, if only while I'm sleeping. It sounds kinda weird, but I've come to love going to bed because there's a chance I will get to see my dad again.