Thursday, April 27, 2017

The One with Mom and Dad

I want to remember this one.

I am dreaming.
I am at the home where I grew up.  There is smoke in the distance.  It is somewhere downtown.  I walk there.  By the time I arrive at the scene of the fire, my dad is with me.
The sign on the burning building is "Bait and Tackle".  I want to take a picture and post it on Facebook so everyone else who can see the smoke will know what is on fire.
But I don't have my phone.  I think I left it at home.
I tell my dad that I have to go home and get my phone.  He doesn't hesitate; he's seen all he came to see, and he comes with me.
As we walk home, we are talking.  On the way, I realize Mom is walking silently just behind Dad's shoulder.  Walking with us as if she had come along to see what the smoke was and now that she has seen it, she is content to just be with us.
"Dad, Mom is here!" I bubble at him.  Then I remember Mom has died.  "You can see Mom, can't you?"
He can't.  He asks me what she looks like.
I turn to look at her.  I see she is happy and young, and I can't wait to tell Dad that her hair hasn't even turned gray yet.
Before I can tell him, though, I remember Dad has also died and realize that this visit with Dad has also been only a dream. 

As the dream fades into the next one, I hear someone laughing a wonderful, sincerely happy, full laugh.  The air fills with many voices laughing, and I realize the first person who had laughed had been me.

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