When my Dad died, I saw him in my dreams...

About two days after my dad’s death, everyone was gone except my sister, who stayed with me for a week, and my mom, who has been with me since.  It was about seven in the  morning.  I had just made a fresh pot of coffee and the three of us were cuddled up
on the two couches in my family room, the same room my dad had died in.

 Autumn’s early morning light was filtering through my windows and I was wrapped up in my blanket, the one my daughter-in-law made for me last Christmas.  It was warm and I was comforted with my mom and sister there beside me.

We were drinking coffee, talking about dad and reminiscing. It was quiet and the hum of their voices must have lulled me to sleep for a split second.  But no one was aware of this, not even me.

I had this strange dream in this short span of time…so short that our conversation seemed to just continue.  But I must have been dreaming because I certainly couldn’t have been awake. My father and I were in the foyer of our church.  My father had two suitcases with him.  And as the doors opened to the body of the church, my dad turned to me and said, “Will you help me carry my suitcases in?”

And I woke up.

When I told my sister and mom about my dream, they said, “When did you dream? When were you asleep?  You were right here talking with us.”   It was a split second in time.  I know it was dad touching me.

Another one….

Immediately after my dad died, I had a terrifying dream.  I was in an elevator and the elevator started falling slowly.  It then picked up speed….it picked up so much speed that I couldn’t keep my feet on the ground.  It went faster and faster until I was off the ground and up towards the ceiling of the elevator.   The force of the elevator dropping propelled me out of the top of the elevator and now completely in the shaft, I grabbed a pipe that was sticking out of the wall.  As the elevator fell down way beyond my sight, I remained  suspended in the space of that  desolate shaft, hanging on to that pipe with no where to go…no one to save me.  And I felt the most terrifying  feeling of finality.  

I’ve only had three dreams of my father since he died.  The last dream was about a month ago.  We were having a party in my house and my dad came to me with two of my white, lawn chairs in his hand.  He was about 50 years old…he looked young and vibrant and so happy.  He said to me, “Come on, Scarlett, let’s take these chairs out in the back and just sit and talk for awhile.”   And I woke up.    I started crying because I know I will never talk with him ever again.