My Dad left us on a night with a full moon – the Surgeon Moon – and since then every full moon, even with all their mayhem and calamities, has offered a reassuring reminder of his presence. For last night’s Snow Moon, Dad visited in a dream. How strange that an ephemeral experience like a dream could embody such substantial emotions and feel so real.
In the dream, we were staying in a hotel room, as if we were on vacation, but it was just the two of us. Mom and Paul were out and I was trying to do a bunch of laundry that was on the floor. Dad went into the bathroom to take a shower. He must have been older here, because I remember wondering if he could do it on his own, but I listened to be sure things were ok and they were. I marveled that at his age he could still do things like take a shower without assistance. When it was done, I went in to collect the towels and laundry from the bathroom.
He sat on a couch and for some reason I asked, “What was the secret… of the lavender river?” He sat there silent and didn’t answer. I said it louder, “What was the secret??”
Still no answer.
It was a typical Dad moment: he was there, silent and stoic and somehow supportive.
The dream ended. The full Snow Moon floated out there somewhere.
Mom still thinks of him whenever there’s a full moon. Maybe that’s why he was saying a silent hello.
