I dreamed of my father last night. He’s been gone many years and there are times I miss him—and my mother—with an intensity that is hard to bear. Orphanhood is not only the realm of the very young.
In the dream, he was confused, as he often was in his later years, but he still wore the smile that charmed, the one I have never mastered. He was carrying on conversations in both English and French with some of my friends, as well as with some of his who were much older, and everyone got along famously. He seemed particularly taken by a young and gifted woman writer I’ve known several years. He was flirting gently and she allowed it and reciprocated with a kindly and amused smile. I could tell he was delighted.
There was no plot or sense to the dream. It didn’t last long at all; when I woke up in the middle of the night, the dream’s edges had frayed and it was already becoming paler.
Shortly after my mother’s death, and three years later that of my father, I became convinced I would somehow come into contact with one or both of them. My mother was a self-professed psychic, a believer of palm readings, tea leaves, cards and séances. My father believed none of these things but purported to; it made his wife happy.
Nothing happened. I took my father’s ashes to France so he could be next to his spouse at the Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris. It was a windy adventure; his ashes were scattered by gusts but I persuaded myself that the remnants of his heart had found their proper home. I flew back to America waiting for a revelation. None came then, and none has come since. My parents are alive through the memories I and others have of them, but I have never had the encounter I wanted. My father the charmer was laconic in his relationship with me when alive, and stayed so in death.
I suspect this very brief meeting may be the only one I’ll be permitted, and that’s okay. My father and I touched last night, however fleetingly, and I’m grateful.

About epiphanettes

Writer, songcrafter, possibly the best French pedal steel guitarist in Virginia.
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3 Responses to Contact

  1. That’s beautiful, Thierry! I’ve had a couple of connections with my father through dreams since his death 22 years ago. One, shortly after he passed, I dreamed it called me on the phone and said hello the way he alway did with a soft drawn out, “hey.” The last few years of his life, I was living in Maryland and he in Pittsburgh. Once he became ill and it was clear he was not long for this world, I made the choice to call him every day. Sometimes I just said, “Hi Dad, I love you.” So, to dream that he called me and said, “hey” moved me. I awoke in tears. I had a few others where we had brief conversations, one of which where he let me know I was going to be OK. I haven’t had one in a while, but I will never stop missing him.

  2. epiphanettes says:

    Maybe that’s how they reach out… I’m glad we shared the experience!

  3. Rich Forsen says:

    I love you, my friend. You’re a true blessing in my life, one big reason being your willingness to be truthful at all levels.

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