Amazing the things you find in an attic.
* * *
I dreamed about my father last night. He was alive and well and happy and we were working in his shop. Not the office/shop he last had. Some new place, with lots of windows and work benches set up against every wall. We were discussing his marketing and how he wasn't getting the response he wanted on his latest device. We were chatting on how I was going to help him retool his marketing plan and get better visibility for the product.
And then I briefly woke up, thinking to go find some reference and remembered.
Don't get me wrong. I'm glad I dreamed about him. I believe it was his way of visiting me. But waking up out of a dream that felt that real and having the shock of memory that he's dead hit one's system first thing in the morning... It takes more than coffee to recover.
I want to go back to sleep. I want to find that dream. Because in it all, I didn't tell him that I loved him. And I need to say it to him again. I just do.
So I'll say it here instead.
I love you, Poppa. I miss you every day.