Dreaming of the Dead

Since my grandmother passed away in December, I've had dreams in which I see her and my grandfather. My grandfather passed away a year and a half ago. They were wonderful grandparents. I spent so much time at their house, simply enjoying spending time with them. Neither had great hearing, so I listened more than I talked, and they taught me a lot of things. I loved hearing their stories of growing up on farms. Both were really good cooks...and oh, how I loved breakfast at their house. Papa Jack (my grandfather) would make biscuits and gravy from scratch, and there was always several kinds of meat, the bacon was nice and crunchy. Or Nana would make the world's best Belgian waffles...and Papa Jack would make sure that the syrup was warm, and there was melted butter. It was my job to keep checking on the waffle iron and see if they were ready. I liked that, getting to help them in little ways, but they did so much more for me. My grandmother was my spiritual mentor, and I knew that when she prayed for me, God heard her. She was such a faithful woman.

The last couple of years were hard. They had to move out of their house, and their health and spirits suffered. They needed so much help and care and attention, and I know that I didn't do as much as I could, and there's nothing to be done about that now.

Often in church, we'll play a song that I knew she loved or the pastor will read a verse that we had discussed (she loved Scripture...and knew it by heart), and I can't help crying. I miss my Nana. She's gone and those times are gone.

So, I dream of them, sometimes, and I wake up, thankful to have seen them, but missing them still. Last night, I saw my grandfather. I don't remember the context, but there were people standing by him, he was sitting in a wheelchair, and he was looking at me. He looked healthy and happy to see me. I hugged him, and that's all I remember.

Happy Father's Day, Papa Jack. I love you.