I just woke up. It’s 3AM. I had a dream that didn’t make
sense, to the point that it woke me up. I dreamt that the whole time I’ve been
in Hawaii I hadn’t talked to my dad and that I couldn’t remember the last time
I talked to him, and neither could my sisters, and it felt so horribly off that
it woke me up. Then it took me a minute of panicky pondering “Why in the world
have I not talked to my best friend?!” to remember that he is actually dead.
And for a moment, that reality felt even more wrong. Then immediately I was
grateful that life kind of made sense again and that I had a good excuse for
not talking to him for 5 months. Then I immediately felt guilty for being
grateful that my dad was dead. It still feels so wrong that he’s not here (but
in some ways he is here, and I feel that) that I’ve been sobbing and dripping
snot the whole time I’ve been writing this.
Essentially,
I dreamt that my dad wasn’t dead. And I woke up and he was, and it stunned me
and made me sad. I will share with you more about the dream, but first, I will
share this interlude:
I just
took a break to pee outside by an orange tree (I’m living off grid in Hawaii, in
case you weren’t aware of that). On the ground, by the light of my headlamp, I
found an orange that looked fresh and new and promising, and I turned it over,
revealing that it had been attacked by bugs and was obviously decomposing. That’s
kind of what I felt like waking up from this dream: hopeful then sad. But
worse. Because my dad – my best friend – is dead.
This is
what happened.
I had a
dream that I published a book, and it sold really well because I was the only
author with my name, so everyone remembered it. (It’s a dream, don’t question
it. Also, ironically, I’m named after my dad Jonathan, who has one of the most
common names, and mine has been forgotten more than the average because it is
more unique: Jonnah.) Then my dream shifted to what my dad has been doing. I
dreamt that he had published a book too. I don’t know what mine was about, but
his was about machine tolerances and had published several editions, and I was
SOOO proud of him – though I wished he would also publish a book about his
addiction recovery. And I dreamt that he was a travelling speaker, going to St.
Ursula Academy in Cincinnati, OH (where I went to high school) among other
places, to speak about machining. And I was so incredibly proud, yet I was also
wondering how he was doing in his sobriety and if the reason for him not to be
travelling around talking about addiction was because he wasn’t doing well in that
regard? Though I mostly determined that his recent successes wouldn’t be
possible if he was letting his shadow side win.
As I
write this, I’m reminded that there’s no addiction in heaven, and that brings
me joy.
So then
in the dream, I felt the need to connect with him, wanting so badly to tell him
I was so proud of him and that I loved him. And I talked to my sisters, and
they didn’t know anything about his recent accomplishments, and it felt wrong to
me that I was the one to tell them this news… Why hadn’t we heard it from him?
Why hadn’t we talked to him in so long that we didn’t know where he was or what
he was doing?
I HAD to
talk to my dad, but I had no way to communicate with him, and it felt so wrong.
Had I talked to him since I had been in Hawaii? I couldn’t remember doing so.
Wait, how long have I been in Hawaii? And why haven’t I talked to my best
friend? And when was the last time we talked? I couldn’t remember. And it felt
so incomputable that I woke up from the dream, as if my brain wasn’t able to stay
in the matrix because the story didn’t make sense. So I woke up, only to
realize that my dad was dead, which pierced my heart like a sword.
Then for
a while, I laid there, crying and pondering the dream, and wanting to be with my
dad so badly. I had to tell him I was proud of him and I loved him! And then he
came to me in a sense, reminding me he is still with me, and gave me a comforting
big bear hug. And I continued pondering the dream and started writing this.
Why did
I think he needed to hear so badly that I was proud of him? I knew that, for
much of his adult life, he dealt with insecurity about his job, that he didn’t
go to college and worked a blue collar position pressing buttons for 35 years.
He had expressed to my sisters and me that he didn’t feel like he was who he
wanted to be: someone we could be proud of. I had told him that was a huge lie
and that I was super proud of him and that I didn’t care what job he had – he was
my dad, and that’s all that mattered to me!
(Now I’m wondering if he’s currently tolerancing the heavenly mansion,
instructing the newcomers, and writing books about machining. Do they do that
in heaven?)
So why
did I feel the deep need to tell him I was proud of him and that I loved him? You
know, he was always good at telling us that he was so proud of us (me and my
sisters) and that he loved us. And it’s interesting to me that the ways we
express love are typically the same modes we need to receive in order to feel
loved as well, which made me think that he needed to hear: “I’m proud of you
and I love you.”
I trust
that God is making all things right. I get the sense that machining (or
whatever form that takes in heaven) now brings my dad immense joy, and that
everything in his reality brings him joy. And all of his speaking skills he
developed from giving “leads” at AA meetings are being put to good use. And all
of his writing skills are being used for the kingdom in some way too, though he’s
not here to write letters to my sisters and I anymore, like he used to.
Tomorrow
is Valentine’s Day. I remember getting a long love letter from my dad one
Valentine’s Day, along with a box of chocolates, communicating to me the abundance
of love from my parents and the even greater love flowing from my heavenly Father.
It is agape love – unconditional and permeating, a love that fills all the gaps
in my heart and quenches all of my thirsts for codependent attention from men,
for butter pecan ice cream, and for slothful mornings in front of the T.V. It’s
a love that invigorates my soul, empowering me to provide the healing that
those around me are just as desperate for.
My new
friend Lila from our Kanekiki fruit farm community in Hawaii just drove away to
fly back to North Carolina to be with her mom during the last few months of her
pregnancy. Reminded of the love I’ve received, I passed some onto her before she left. “I love
you! I’m proud of you! You are going to do great!”
Today,
though I miss my Dad’s presence, I’m grateful that he’s still with me in a
different way and that my Heavenly Daddy is too. And so is all the love.
Daddy, I
love you and I’m so proud of you! Thank you for your love. And thank you for
pointing me to the ultimate source of love: our Heavenly Father. May this love
be on earth as it is in heaven. Amen
