I miss my dad.

I just woke up from dreaming about my dad. It was so real, so like him, that I wanted to keep it. It started as all dreams do--with a completely different circumstance, and then all of a sudden, there I was sitting near him. We were in an office, and he was busy with something. He must have come back from being away, because people kept coming in to say hello and help dust things. Every time, my dad would introduce me, and I'd reach out and shake their hand. Everywhere around me were books and old photographs of us kids, just like in his office at Ebenezer. Zach even came in--he was ordained now--and asked him where he usually keeps the book of policies; it seemed like Zach was working at this place, too, and was moving into a new office. I was my own age, all 20 years old, even though I was just sitting in his office hanging out like I used to when I was 7. But I remember the point when I realized that he wasn't as he should be-- he still had the gaunt cheeks, the gray hair, and that certain look of pain. Then I started waking up.


It makes me wonder--if my dad were still alive today, does that mean that he would have been cured, somehow? Or would it just mean that he was in even more suffering than before? I'm a little upset with my subconscious for giving me a dream about my dad being around right now, because I've been missing him a lot lately and wishing I could talk to him about everything. It would have been easier if my dreaming had taken place ten years ago, so I could remember him as he used to be--dark brown hair, strong, easy-going.


It's a beautiful morning. No classes today because of academic advising, so I'll have a lot of time this afternoon to get ahead on work. I can't believe that I have the rest of this week (only Thursday and Friday for classes!), next week as a full week of classes, two weeks from now is my last week of classes, finishing on Thursday. Then exams. Then summer! Then the internship! (43 days till SoCal!) We're getting down to the wire, here.


That's all. More later.
Betsy Joy