Tell The Others For Me, Wouldja?
Such a funny light, and strange, that flooded the road Sandy and I were standing on. In front of us was Thunderhead, but it was a mile away. Closer, and off to our left, were two very weathered houses that became one as we talked. She asked if I intended to keep them both, and I said, “You know, I thought about selling them, but there are so many memories in the front room alone– I just can’t let them go.” She nodded that she understood and we stayed there in that funny light talking about things. She said, “There’s nothing more important than family” and I said, “I believe that, too.” She was gone then and I was in the living room of Grandma Myrtle’s house, which had also magically become the room off the living room in Great Grandma Lillie’s house. The room was bare, and I could sense, in fact, that the entire house was empty for the most part, but even as this registered I heard someone call out, and recognizing the voice as Paula’s, I began walking through the empty room toward the living room in search of whoever else might be there. As I closed in on the door that separated the rooms, I knew that when I turned the corner there would be something good. I turned the corner and saw my Dad sitting there. I yelled, “Dad!” and lit up with the same funny light that Sandy and I had been standing in earlier from my happiness at seeing him. As I began walking toward him, my whole heart filled with a heavy dread, and I told myself, “Now, listen. Don’t feel too happy, because this is a dream and he could be taken away from you before you even get to him” and the fear of this happening resonated with each step, and with each step I felt the cumulative weight of the panic of losing him and my happiness at seeing him, and when I reached him and we both were still there I kissed his cheek a thousand times and told him how I’d missed him and how I loved him and how happy I was to see him. He was laughing and smiling and shaking his head at the flurry of love I brought with me, and when I asked him, “How are you, Dad?” he said, “I’m doing fine– well, really pretty great! Tell the others for me, wouldja?” and I said I would and just then Paula came in with some food she had fixed for him and as he took his plate I stood up to thank her but instead I awoke in a world where he was dead again.
February 15, 2011 at 22:08
What a wonderful dream! I am so happy for you that the thing you dreaded most in the dream — the disappearance did not happen. BTW, that same night, the room I was sleeping in was filled with the scent of gardenias. This is February–and even in Atlanta, they’re not in bloom.
February 15, 2011 at 22:17
I wonder who was looking for you…? 🙂
February 15, 2011 at 22:24
A wonderful accounting of a beautiful thing Glenn. I never wanted to be part of the “Dad is Gone Club.” In our dreams, for a little while, they can be back with us. Thanks for writing. Me=Big Fan.
February 16, 2011 at 07:06
thank the heavens for dreams
February 22, 2011 at 23:01
Amen to that.
February 16, 2011 at 07:30
Thank you for telling us and smearing my mascara. I’m joking about the mascara. Thank you for every word you’ve ever written. I’m saving that rock I found for you.
February 22, 2011 at 23:02
Let’s share it. Like the Washburn rings. 🙂
February 16, 2011 at 17:54
I don’t believe it was a dream. Not entirely.
The connection of love is not easily broken. 🙂
February 22, 2011 at 23:02
Agreed. 🙂
February 18, 2011 at 17:24
Your Dad said, “I’m doing fine-well, really pretty great. Tell the others for me, wouldja?” I believe him and thankful that he told us.
February 18, 2011 at 17:26
He gave me a message that I long to hear everyday.
February 22, 2011 at 23:03
I know just what you mean.