For a couple of weeks there’s been a distinct presence walking around the house.  It’s a male who likes to pace in the foyer, go up and down the stairs to my bedroom, and visit my granddaughter.

The other day my granddaughter, whose code name is Veruca, stumbled sleepily out of her bedroom and announced that she “had a dream, but not a dream”.  She said that during the night a man would not stop holding her hands and that she tried to tell the man to stop holding her hands and to go away.

My first reaction was just to listen then ask questions in a non-alarming way.  In our conversation I validated her feelings by acknowledging her experience and asked her how she felt about it.  She didn’t seem scared, just really annoyed.

Two nights ago I dreamt I was in a restaurant with my family and friends and we were having a wonderful time.  Lots of laughs, the sun was shining, the table was full of abundant yummy things to eat, yet strangely no one was eating.  A tall man with red hair and freckles came in and we all greeted him warmly, as if he was expected.  He sat down at the table and on the wall in back of him hung a large photo that was identical to how he looked in the restaurant.  I kept looking at the photo, then to his face.  I felt I should know him, but I did not.

I was aware of someone standing to my right, a man.  He wore a plaid shirt and khaki’s.  He walked over to a table and pick up a ball hat, signaling that he was ready to leave.  It was my father.  He appeared in excellent health and was laughing and smiling so much that the joy just sprang from his face as he gazed to look upon all of us.

He stood beside me and said how much he enjoyed the visit but was tired and would I drive him home.  He also said how much he enjoyed watching Veruca grow up and that he would always watch over the grandchildren and keep them safe.  Then I watched him walk over to where Veruca was seated at the table and he took her hands, held them fast as they both shared a farewell laugh.

My Dad, Frank, passed away the end of February six years ago, yet he still finds a way to stay in touch.

Knowing that I was now talking to the departed in my dream I woke myself up on purpose, only to find that when I went back to sleep I had almost the identical dream for a second time.

The man in the red hair?  He was my daughter’s friend, who met a very early and unfortunate passing.  Unbeknownst to me she had been thinking of him recently.  When I relayed this dream to her and described him she knew exactly who he was.

We may sleep, but the dead do not.  They continue to protect, share, and enjoy the closeness of family and friends in our realm of existence.  As we miss them, they miss nothing.

Tags: dead sleep, departed friends, dreaming of family, dreaming of the dead, lucid dreaming, missing the dead