From under the red maple tree

I stormed out of the house, still full of people, well-aware that my angry outburst had made others uncomfortable. Why did I seem so edgy? Couldn't I just keep quiet and endure the irritations? It was family after all.
I moved quickly at first, down the two front steps, slowing my steps down the walk. Thankful for the light, misty rain that had begun--it seemed to soothe my weary soul-- I drew in a slow, deep breath, looking straight ahead, to gain some composure.
Something caught my eye to the left. Not something I soon realized, someONE. It was Dad, standing quietly under the branches of the red maple tree, waiting for me to notice him! He came toward me as I stepped off the walk into the grass.
"Dad!" I exclaimed in disbelief, "What are you doing here?!? I can't believe you are here!"
He was wearing his old red flannel shirt, grey pants and the black tie-up shoes that he never bothered to tie or untie as he stepped into them, usually sockless! It was so good to see him! His day-old whiskered face was full, his blues eyes clear, the look about him healthy and well.
"I'm so glad you are here! Dad, I miss you so much!!" I told him.
"I know you do," he spoke clearly with a strong voice, "I miss you, too. It's almost more than I can stand, I miss you so much."
"Can I hug you?" I asked him.
"Well, you can't get too close....listen to me, Kimby," he knew about me yelling in the house, I just knew it. I was disappointed with myself for letting him down. "You've got to be kind to people. This is not all there is." As I looked at him, I knew. He knew all that had happened to him, about his ordeal the past few years; he was somehow strangely and yet fully aware of his illness. The look in his eye said more to me than his words. It matters how we treat people, even those who cannot respond or even love us back. This is NOT all there is, it matters for a lifetime--and beyond. I got it, I understood.
Somehow I knew he would be leaving soon.
I wanted to hug him so badly. He maybe wasn't supposed to, but he did anyway. He reached for me with one strong arm to pull me close. It was wonderful. I lingered, knowing that soon others from the house would come searching for me, maybe even now watching from the window seeing me hug someone that only existed in my mind's eye. He only hugged me with one arm because in the other--why hadn't I noticed it before?--he was holding a half-eaten open-faced toasted tomato sandwich.
I laughed. "Dad, is this what you eat in heaven?"
He chuckled, too, "You should see it all, we can eat whatever we want."

This experience I had, whether dreamt or imagined, was so real to me. My husband gently woke me from my sobbing. Bittersweet. Sad because I miss him so; wonderful because he was healthy! And his message to me (was it truly from him?) so powerful, so true. I cannot see from this vantage point how it all these pieces fit together. But what is up to me is how I react, how I respond to what happens to me, and how I treat those around me with love and grace.