I have two memories which float through my brain when I wake in the night. They circle in my head, like planes in a holding pattern waiting on the right conditions to land. It seems they never quite touch the ground, but just keep the loop going enough to prevent my mind from resting fully.

The first memory is of Mom. The last couple of days of her life. After all awareness had left her, but not into the deep sleep of death quite yet. We were on watch. Sitting by the bed reading scripture, poetry, and prayers to her from her favorite books. She was conscious, but not present. Until. Until, she rallied all her energy to pucker up to kiss each of us. This was a monumental task that spoke volumes without the use of words. First, that she was still in there. Second, that she loved us and knew we were there. It was her last gift of presence to us. Her eyes, for that instant, were the window to her soul and we gazed into her and she into us. The next instant she was back to her vacant stare. Not too many hours later, she was gone.

The second memory is of Dad. In the hospital, with a bi-pap covering his mouth and nose to keep him from gasping for breath. Only his eyes were visible. Again, no words were needed. He knew. He gazed into me. I knew. His eyes teared up. Mine spilled over. He was done. It was clear. He was ready for it to be over. But I wasn’t. I knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later. I was trying to brace myself. He was watching me wrestle with the suddenness; trying to get my head around this traumatic event. He was willing me to grasp it. To understand what he needed. I did.

I told him his body wasn’t able to gather enough strength…he knew this already. I told him I wasn’t going anywhere. He nodded. I saw his soul, tired of his body, ready to fly. I saw him wrestling, not wanting to leave us. I told him it was okay to go. We all did in our individual times with him. We assured him we are going to be fine. We would take care of each other. I promised. We all promised. He was gone in 12 hours at the end of a long day…10 minutes after we left the room for the evening. While I am forever grateful for these moments, you can see how having them float around in my head might be an issue, right? My last precious memories that I want to keep, but they play on repeat in my head to the point of exhaustion.  

While I am trying to figure out how to allow the memories to take their proper and appropriate places, I remember when I was a little girl and trouble sleeping. Dad used to rock me in his Lazy Boy recliner that had a certain squeak. He would rub my forehead which made it impossible to resist sleep. Impossible. As he carried me to my bed and tucked me in, he would kiss my forehead and say “sweet dreams” right as I faded out.

This week I had a dream…

I was in a balcony looking down into the lobby area of a church. People were milling about talking as they tend to do when entering or exiting a service. Though I could not hear the conversations, because I was merely an observer, I could tell it was joyful fellowship by the expressions on each face.

Then I saw them! Mom and Dad. They drew my eyes and attention like a beacon. Hand and hand. Mingling with the others. Laughing and shaking hands, hugging, etc… It was such a familiar sight to see them this way. An otherworldly delight. At that moment, Dad looked up. Our eyes met. He saw me. He smiled so big and mouthed “Hey, Speedy.” (one of his nicknames for me) He looked so radiant. Colors so vivid. So Real. Happy. Joy-filled. He held my eyes, replacing the sadness of my looping memory with the sweetness of this dream. Mom waved. Smiled. Whole. Fully in her right mind. I mouthed, “I miss you.” Dad understood, gave a nod and a little wave. His eyes never left me and his smile never wavered. His thoughts spoke to my heart but not his mouth, “I am good. Never better. Look at how happy I am. See me. Remember this.”

I have since realized no words were actually audibly spoken during this dream. It was all felt thoughts and mouthed greetings. Now my loss for words lately, which has confounded me, doesn’t seem like such a big deal. There are plenty of ways to communicate without words. Dreams is one of them. Even in my sleep the hope I felt from this incredibly real image flooded me. When I woke up, my heart was lighter than it has been in months. What a gift. Thanks Dad. Sweet dreams, indeed.