My dad died 13 years ago. Last night he was in my dream. I could see his face just like I remember it and I heard his voice clear as if he were speaking to me in the same room. He was in the middle of some sort of rapprochement with my mum, and then was suddenly asleep on a daybed along one side of a stone wall in a cool room shaded from the morning sun by thick wooden blinds. He woke and seemed both pleased and surprised to see me, happy to hear I've got a family of my own now, and for some reason immensely excited that my nephew is nearly as tall as I am. All of these things made perfect sense at the time, but on waking any rationality sublimated immediately and I was left with a strange sense of comfort that, though I've not really thought of him beyond in an abstract sense for some time, I still carry something of him with me. I think I understand a bit more now too.
I miss you, dad.

















