When the Dream finally comes

For the first time since Pa passed, he finally showed up in my dreams.

In that world, we were living in the neighborhood, doing what we do best—gathering people together. He had already made fast friends with a new couple, holding court, laughing, and in true, classic fashion, decided our party absolutely needed a handmade cold dunk tank. Waking up from it didn’t feel heavy at first; it felt like a jolt of pure excitement. It was the first time I had seen him whole and vibrant in months.

They say people show up in your dreams right when you need them most. Maybe it’s because his birthday is next week. Maybe he just knew it was time to check in.

Yet underneath that brief morning warmth is the sharp, unavoidable reality of grief. I’m still searching for a way to make peace with the hardest truth of all: there are no more new shared memories to be made. My dad is gone, and stepping into the space of being without parents leaves a quiet, echoing hollow that words can rarely fill.

The dream gave me a moment with him, but it also reminded me of the work it takes to carry forward love when the person who gave it to you is no longer on the other end of the line. I’m holding onto the laughter from that backyard party, even if it only lived for a night.