So authentic, the sand feels real

In my dream, the ocean waves crash to the shore, sending the white, wispy surf up to our ankles. The sun has come up in the horizon and made it’s grand entrance. Several small sandpipers near us greet the day by lining up up on the sand. They seem to be playing chicken with one another. They see how long they can stand in place before another wave comes rushing to the shore.

My father and I take a few steps back to make sure we don’t get splashed by the cold water. In my left hand, I hold tightly to a leash. I keep Nittany, my Bichon Frise – Lhasa Apsa dog, from chasing the birds. I stop every so often to lean down and rub her chin. She looks up in appreciation.

The dream feels so real. I can feel the sand between my toes and the ocean breeze against my cheek. My father and I continue on our walk. We chat about big and small things. I catch him up on college and pro sports and we even chat briefly about the recent Summer Olympics. He would have been excited about the start of the college football season.

I bring him up to speed on my kids. I mention when my wife and I last saw each of them and when we’ll see them again. I tell him about how we made the five-hour drive to take our youngest son back to college. He listens and stops me every so often for more details. I can tell that he’s soaking up every little morsel of news. He’s easily enjoying this part the most.

Justin Moore: If Heaven weren’t so far away.

A repeat performance

My father died twenty years ago. He had a weak heart and it eventually gave out on him. I had a similar dream a few years ago. I wrote about that experience in my piece Pleasant Dreams with Dad. In that dream, my father and I took a long walk on a leafy wooded trail. In both dreams, my father is alive and well. He has thinning gray hair and wears the same thick black glasses that he wore much of my childhood, but there’s no oxygen tank, no shortness of breath or any health ailments. He’s smiling and seems content.

I was running some errands this week. I got to thinking about my wife and my trip to the beach this summer. It was a fun getaway. My wife and I took long walks on the beach and the neighborhood where we stayed. Somewhere in there, thoughts of my father slipped in. The next thing I know I was imaging how it would be to talk to him again. To really talk to him.

The things I would say

My father and I had our challenges when I was a kid. When I had my own kids, we managed to come to a mutual landing spot. He had a temper and was a demanding father. His father died young and he had to quickly become a man taking care of his brothers and mother. He didn’t have a lot of great examples of what it meant to be a good father. Somewhere in there, though, he became a pussycat and playmate to his grandchildren. They gave him back his childhood. He loved being a grandfather and spending time with them. It’s with those images in mind that I like to think about him. It helps me to feel his presence.

I imagine what I would say to him, what he would he say to me, and the stories we would tell each other. Oh, my father was very good with his hands, I would have more than a few do-it-yourself project questions for him:

• “Should I pay someone to help re-do the master bathroom or should I tackle it myself?”
• “I just got new brakes on the car. Why are the brakes still squeaking when I brake hard on a hill?”
• “The aluminum siding is starting to buckle, how much will it cost to have it replaced?”

It’s what you feel inside

But mainly, we would talk about the kids. I would love to see his smile again. I would talk about a few happy moments from my youth. I would love to listen to the way he used to tell a story. I would tell my father how I think of him often. I would tell him how my kids say and do things that remind me of him:

• The smile they get when they’ve achieved something.
• The heartfelt thank you they give my wife and I.
• Their strong work ethic.

In the end, I suspect the words wouldn’t matter. It would just be great to see him again. I have faith that I’ll get to see my father again in the future. Until then, I find it interesting to dream about him. The dream feels so real. I feel like I can touch the sand. It’s the best kind of dream.

Until we see each other again.

Ed Sheeran: Visiting hours.