I was standing at the edge of a stream. I could feel my dad's presence and knew that I just had to work my way up this stream to get to him. But I couldn't just walk the banks as they were covered in dense underbrush and forestry. So I got in the stream, clothes and all, and started working my way up the stream. But the banks grew wider and the current became faster. But I kept working my way up, knowing my dad was just at the end. But as I was battling the current, the clouds closed in and it began to rain. But I kept on. As I worked my way up the stream, things kept floating by to help me on my journey. A large stick floated by, so I grabbed it and used it to keep my balance in the water. The rain was cold, and a raincoat floated by. So I grabbed it to at least keep the rain out of my face and to keep my body from being cold. As I worked my way up the stream, it became wider and deeper. It got to the point where I couldn't touch the bottom anymore, so I let go of the walking stick and began to swim. At this point, the water turned colder and it began to snow. The river was moving too fast and I couldn't make it to the banks without being swept under with the current, so I stayed to the middle of the river and kept swimming upstream. I knew my dad was at the end and I knew that if I gave up, I wouldn't get to see him. So I kept on. People from my life were standing on the banks, not saying anything, but just watching me swim. Some people pointed up the stream, but most just stood there. My best friend, a professor from college, one of my teachers from grade school. Everyone just kept watching me try and swim upstream. I remember it being so cold and it was snowing. The river was being to ice over, but I had to keep going. Someone threw me another stick and I would swim, then break the ice in front of me. Finally, the ice grew so thick, I couldn't break it anymore, so I tried to pull myself up onto the ice so I could walk the rest of the way. But I couldn't get a good grip and I kept falling back in. I had such a determination to see my dad again, but it seemed like all the elements were against me. I knew, deep in my heart, he was at the end of this river, waiting for me.
And then I woke up. I had the same hole in my heart that I woke up with a couple months after my dad died. I had a horrible morning and was in the worst of moods. I could not get that dream out of my head.
But when I think more deeply about it, what a crazy metaphor for my life. I will never lose that feeling of my dad always being there. I will never lose that feeling of wanting to see him, one last time. I will never lose that feeling that if I just try a little harder, I might be able to hear him laugh again, or feel his arms around me. But I will, honestly and truly, never see him again. Maybe it wasn't a nightmare after all. Maybe it was just a metaphor for my life - that my dad is always there, I just can't see him anymore.
And I'm ok with that.
