All I Have To Do Is Dream

Have you ever had a dream that threw off the rest of your day? I did last night.

I had a dream with my Grandpa in it. I've only had about three of them since he died of Parkinson's three years ago. They've ranged from ok to not so great - this one was horrible. He was dying all over again; thin, suffering, an old and withered shadow of the great man he used to be. My Grandma was trying to get me to spend time with him again, but this time it was because she didn't want to be there. In my dream, my Grandpa was dying and my Grandma didn't want to deal with it anymore.
In my dream, I was sitting by his bed, holding his hand and he grabbed one of my fingers. It was all he could do. And now, in my waking, it's like I'm going through it all over again. Sitting by his bed, watching him, willing him to move, to speak, to open his eyes, to respond. I'm reading to him, singing to him, talking to him, wondering all the time if he really does hear. I'm telling him that he can let go - hating myself all the time - that he doesn't have to keep his promise anymore and that I love him. The sitting, the praying, the waiting - waiting for God to let my Grandpa to die.

I miss him so very much. I miss his laugh, I miss his hugs, I miss the way his calloused fingers felt holding my hand. I miss the smell of his shirts, I miss walking the beach looking for seashells, I miss being greeted with a loud "Hullo, Emily!" It hurts. Three years later, it still hurts. It still sucks that he's gone, still sucks that he had to suffer, still sucks that my Grandma is now alone, just...sucks. And it still doesn't make sense. I still have the images clear as the day they happened of his body lying in the bed the morning he finally went home to God, of the crowded waiting room before the funeral, of the casket at the interment when I finally realized that my Grandpa was never coming back. Most clearly, though, I remember sitting in my grandparents' bedroom on the floor, facing their bed and just thinking how wrong it all was. The house was never supposed to be empty, my Grandma was never supposed to be alone. He was never supposed to leave us. He promised me.

I'm jealous of those who can cry and still look pretty. I know that right now my face is red and puffy, but that's ok. Because in a short time, I'll look fine again and I'll continue to live my life as I normally do. In a little while I'll go to bed and dream new dreams that will not have my Grandpa in them. Life tomorrow will begin anew. My Grandpa will still be gone, and it will still suck - some days more than others - and I will still be waiting for the day when I am taken up to heaven and will see him crouched down again, waiting with a big hug and a "Hullo, Emily!"