I had a dream about dad last night. He was alive. In fact, he never died. We were at a big celebration and performance, possibly involving Sam’s school, the kids were dressed up and dancing. I got to see my dad and talk to him a little, but his seat wasn’t near mine. Still, I kept my eye on him and yes, there he was. I kept trying to understand how he was alive. “Dad! I thought you were dead!” I’d say to him. “I know. I thought so too. But here I am!” It was such a joyful time.
I remember feeling like we had a second chance. “Don’t do the chemo!” I was going to tell him. And, I decided I would try to convince him to drink wheatgrass or do a raw food cleanse or give up meat wheat and dairy… anything to try to rebuild his immune system. But as happy as I was in the dream, I couldn’t quite shake the image of him laying there dead in the hospital. My mind wanted to believe, but it couldn’t forget. The best I could do in my dream state was decide he actually WASN’T dead, and somehow he’d been cured after we left the hospital. A stretch, I know, but, the mind can take giant leaps and ignore the obvious to find the results it wants.
Jessica Mara 