September 2, 2012

I stopped mid-sentence and left the conversation quickly.  Were my eyes playing tricks on me?  I nearly ran across the crowded lobby, not caring who I pushed out of the way.  It seemed as if the multitude parted and the light was brighter right where he was standing, smiling right at me.  Clad in the kelly-green polo with the little yellow alligator insignia, the shirt stretched tight over his healthy round belly (that shirt always was a size too small!).  He wore glasses from a few years back and held  a styrafoam coffee cup in his left hand where I knew his crooked index finger would be visible.
"What are you doing here?"  I asked incredulously.
"I drove here from the nursing center."  He spoke the words but it wasn't actually his voice somehow.  There was a part of me that did want to hear his voice.
His answer didn't really matter to me, as I hung on his neck, for if I stopped to think about it, I knew what he said couldn't possibly be true.  All that mattered was that he was here.

It was only a few seconds that he appeared in my dream, whole and healthy, but I am so thankful to have seen him that way.  Hours later, I sat beside his chair, as he silently watched me and smiled twice at my children.  I did want to hear his voice, but it was not to be on this visit.  However, my sentiment remains the same, dream or reality---all that matters is that he is here.