Dreams of My Father...But Not the Obama Kind

Is it fair to say that "I have a blog" if the last two posts I published were in July and October of last year?  I guess I will say that I still do since I've had over 2000 hits on my blog since that post in July. Prior to that July post it had been six months since I published a post.  I've tried to think of a good reason why I can't seem to find time to do something that I used to love to do.  Never did I come upon a singular answer but the reasons that come across have a lot to do with my blog being a place where I share a lot of my thoughts and emotions.  While I'm doing much better with the grief now that my Dad has been gone for 15 months, it is still a struggle to "put myself out there" whether it be to share joy, sorrow, anything deep or even shallow.  I also don't like writing when I don't feel like I have something big to say, so to those people who gave me 2000 hits over the last 6 months; thanks for sticking with me.  (Lord knows it hasn't been me because I don't visit my blog unless I'm writing on it).  For those of you who wrote in Christmas cards to me, "I'm glad that you're writing your blog again" thanks for seeing something of worth in spending your time in this way.  Maybe I will really find my way back at some point.

On a light-hearted note, I do have people who know I have a blog and give me suggestions for things I should blog about.  (Maybe I should write a post about how you should never end a sentence with a preposition.  I did that on purpose, by the way).  Anyway, I was at a party recently and a friend told me that I should give lots of fashion advice on my blog because I can put together outfits and sometimes wear things others would never dream of leaving their house in and make it look great.  I took that as a compliment, because I do hear that very thing quite often, and I'm not always sure whether people mean that as a compliment or not; but I take it as such.  Mostly, because I'm not going to stop wearing raspberry-colored pants tucked into tall white Ugg boots with turquoise striped knee socks showing, a white sweater, a navy-blue puffy vest with white polka dots, and a scarf with turquoise, raspberry, and navy blue in it.  I'm going to wear that, people, so I will continue to put together outfits.  Anyway, for this particular friend, here is your fashion tip for today coming straight to you from the frozen tundra known as St. Louis this winter.  Ready?  Don't wear flip flops in the snow.  Your feet will get really cold.  There you have it.

Now, on to the real purpose of this blog post.  I've had two very vivid dreams about my Dad since he passed away; one was several months ago and one was last night.  I just thought I would share them because it's something special to me and it's my blog and I felt like sharing it.  Maybe, also, those of you who have lost someone can relate.  In my dream several months ago my family including Lindy, the boys, my brother and his family, my Mom and Dad were all in a restaurant.  We were waiting for a table and it was a noisy restaurant.  I went to see how long it would be until our table was ready, because that's what I do.  I find out how much longer we have to wait because we are not the most patient group of people.  Anyway, the restaurant was noisy so I told my brother what I was doing and he leaned over to tell my Dad.  They were both standing up next to each other but my Dad looked to be about the same age as my brother.  Himself; but younger, thinner, bright-eyed.  He was wearing a plaid shirt (which wasn't so out of the ordinary).  When my brother leaned over to tell him what I was doing I got the distinct feeling it wasn't because Dad was hard of hearing--like he increasingly was as he got older--it was simply because the restaurant was noisy.  That was really all there was to that dream but I loved seeing my Dad in his younger, stronger body.  Hair was dark and not white.  He looked contented--not impatient like me to be waiting for a table.  (My friend, Jenn, might have lots to say about this dream because she's good at that).

Last night in my dream it seemed that he had died but had come back to see me.  He was sitting in a chair, like a kitchen chair, and has if he had been waiting for me.   He was himself, but maybe what he looked like about 20 years ago when I graduated college.  He had dress clothes on--slacks, dress shirt, tie--but not a jacket.  Kind of like he had just come from church.  My Dad was one for dressing up.  Most people think that I get my "dressing up" gene from my Mom but I got it equally from my Dad.  When he died he had six new suits in his closet--some already tailored, some not--but all with tags on.  He had scads and scads of dress shirts, still packaged.  The man loved to shop and loved to dress up.  Two days before he died he preached on that Sunday morning and was dressed up in a suit, complete with pocket hankie and tie chain.  He and my Mom were quite a pair and I often think that growing up with a Dad who could dress up made me marry a man who wears a suit well and is comfortable being dressed up.  OK, now I'm getting bogged down in what Dad was wearing in my dream, but if you know me you would expect that.

The main part of the dream, and it was pretty short, was that when I saw him I knew it was my opportunity to say good bye to him.  If you aren't familiar with the story of how he died you'll just have to go back and read posts from November of 2012 because I don't want to go into all of it again. He died instantly, at home, of a massive heart attack, painlessly and wordlessly.  When someone dies like that there is no opportunity to say good bye.  I had spoken with him just 7 days before on his birthday and most of our conversation was about the shopping trip he had gone on that day and what he had bought for himself--mainly, a new tie.  Ha!  Clothes again!!  My Dad and I never had words that went unsaid between us.  We loved each other and expressed it and I told him so on his birthday as did my boys.  But, there wasn't that opportunity for last "I love yous" the day he died.  So, in my dream, when I saw him sitting there I walked up and just started kissing his soft cheeks and saying all the things I would have said if I could have, "I love you, Dad.  I love you so much.  You were the best Dad in the world.  I miss you.  Thank you for being a good Dad" and on and on.  I had tears running down my face as I was kissing his cheeks and saying those things and he just said, "I know, punkin."

Being able to say it to him gave me much peace, and even though that was a dream I know that he knows.  He's up in heaven waiting for me and heaven is made all the sweeter knowing he's there with the baby I lost.  I have reasons to believe that my baby was a girl that I think I've only shared with my mother.  I've had some sadness over that loss again recently and I think being able to see my Dad in my dream, with his bright blue eyes and his younger face was healing to me.

The best gift my Dad ever gave me was sharing Jesus with me, and showing Jesus to me all of the life that I shared with him.  Without Jesus, I don't believe we will see heaven or our loved ones who have also given their hearts to Him.  It's never too late for those of us on earth until we take our last breath.  The peace I have comes through the Prince of Peace and of all the things I have to be thankful for in my life serving Jesus, I think His peace that passes all understanding is sweetest to me above all other blessings.

I could continue this post following a whole other tangent but I think I'll make you wait for the next post.  Hopefully it won't be 4 months.  Sorry 'bout that.

Love to all,

Robin