The room was dark, illuminated by the glow of the television as Elle and I sat in bed. She vigorously nursed as I tried to find something other than the Magic Bullet infomercial to keep my attention. John sat up as if the alarm was ringing, jolted out of a deep sleep he slipped out of bed, a confused look on his face as he stammered to the bathroom. As he came back to bed, he curled himself around me and whispered, "I met your dad."
Every once in a great while we dream of our dads. They are rare gifts that leave us as if we've been touched by angels.
John never met my father and has only heard his voice from old family videos, but we haven't sat down and watched one in years. Unfortunately in this dream my father didn't speak to him. I was hoping for some guidance or words of wisdom.
Apparently Ellie was two years old or so, walking about, she slipped out of the babygate and was on the front porch. My father rescued her, swooped her up in his arms and held her tight. He saved her. He smiled as John watched from the doorway.
We feel your arms around us Dad. They're tight, oh so tight. So safe and warm and strong.
If only these dreams could come true.