Hug from Dad

By Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes

       My husband, Don, says he never dreams. Although, once in a while, he'll wake with a slight recollection of some abstract nighttime memory. Personally, I dream frequently. My mother tells me (and it has become something of a standard saying in our family) that other people's dreams are boring. Yet, every once in a while a dream will impact the dreamer - and its contents will touch other people.
       Most dreams are an obvious jumble of the previous day's events, or an abstract collection of the dreamer's hopes or fears. But some - according to some people - might be a glimpse into a past life or a visit from someone who is no longer on this plane. Those who subscribe to this belief might say that this latter type of dream has a different quality than the average garden variety dream. Such is not easy to forget. Of course my husband, Don, would probably say that all of this is absurd. But what do you expect from someone who never remembers his dreams?

Wishing for a Dream

       As crazy as it may sound, after my father died I hoped that he would visit me in my dreams. I did dream about him occasionally. Yet, they were normal dreams and I never imagined that they were even remotely spiritual. Several years elapsed, and I no longer made the silent wish for Dad to visit me.
       Then it happened. Don and I had taken over the management of my parents' business. There were major decisions to be made and I frequently butted heads with Dad's business partners. At times I wondered if I was making the right choices. Then he came to me.
       My dream's location was the interior of our restaurant. Different people were seated at the long tables, and many of them were quietly questioning my choices, and being somewhat critical. I looked to the door, and in walked my father. He wasn't sick, as the last time I'd seen him, yet robust, in his prime, as he was a decade before his death.
       The moment he walked in I was aware of the fact that he had been dead for sometime, and as I literally flew into his arms in greeting I thought gee, these people are going to wonder why dad's here - since they all knew he had died sometime ago. Yet it didn't seem strange to see him, I didn't question it.
       But was I glad to see him! He hugged me so tightly - I felt like a protected little girl again. And then Dad spoke to me - but not in spoken words, in thoughts. He told me that I was doing good, that I was making the right choices, and not to worry about the others, to simply continue going by my own instincts. All of this he said without speaking. It was like telepathy.

Holding onto the Dream

       I continued to hold Dad tightly, as if my life depended on it, so glad to see him, to touch him. Then I gradually began waking up. I could feel my arms wrapped around my own body, and Dad's presence seemed to drift away as I woke. My mind's state neared wakefulness and I attempted somehow to keep myself in the sleep like state, just so I could be with Dad a moment longer. But, I was in my bed, it was daybreak, my arms were folded across my chest, and I broke into uncontrollable sobs. The sensations and emotions of that dream were profound. My sobs woke Don, and he attempted to soothe me, certain I had just awoken from a nightmare.
       Yet, Dad had surely visited me, and Don could not begin to understand. He is a realist. After I assured Don that I was okay, I quickly put on my robe and rushed over to my mother's home, which was next door.
       I shared the experience with mom. She cried. Then we called my sister, and she cried. "Daddy visited you." my sister Lynn said with certainty, between her muffled sobs.
       I agreed with her. Perhaps Don might say it was simply an ordinary dream. Yet, to me it was not ordinary.