Saturday, August 5, 2017

Real

I meet an amazing woman who runs an international human rights organization that keeps a finger on the injustices in the world, then acts to make a difference.

It is named in honor of her father, a man who suffered from just one of those many injustices perpetrated by evil. Because of her father's legacy, she feels an urgency to push, fight, keep going; because daughters want their fathers to be proud of them--and we love our fathers.

She tells me how one night, he came to her in a dream with specific answers to the questions she'd had about running the organization. She recognized his truth and logic while still in her dream. She also realized, she'd have to tell her board members how she got the answers~~from her dead father. Anxiety overtook her dream when she should have been basking in his presence and his advice.

"It's so real," I say to her.

"It is, but not everyone understands this."

I do.

When my sister thinks of my father, she gets weepy, misses him, and her thoughts are momentarily crippled.

When I think of my father, I see him smiling at me. I feel his comfort. I hear his little voice of assurance. I hear him laugh when I say something funny.

 I can't prove it really happens. I wonder myself if it is just my imagination or a construct born of a deep desire. Or, is he really close-- just veiled from me in a different dimension I don't understand.

It's so real.

My sister calls. Her body is sore from re-entering the working-out force. So sore, that it adds to her misery already ruffled from thinking about Dad whose death date is August 12th.

I tell her the above story and try to convince her she's not alone; our father is still aware of us. His care hasn't ceased. After an hour, after convincing her to take some aspirin for her sore body, we hang up. I go downstairs to get a glass of water. When I return, my notebook is open to this page. It was a piece of recycled paper I used to print something else. Our dad, an avid exerciser, had always encouraged my sister to do the same. Serendipity, or my father, is at work.


No comments: