grieving.

When my Dad first passed away, I didn't have those dreams that everyone talked about having after losing an important person in their lives. I wanted to have them, to have something so badly that I even prayed that God wold give me dreams about my Dad.

I thought it would be the closest thing to being near him. Nothing happened.

But things did start happening in our family-- some milestones passed which I blogged about (you can read here). And just like that....I began to dream about my Dad. Every night. Though he seemed to be deteriorating before my very eyes in each successive dream. Weaker and weaker each time. The dreams would nearly always start where he's healthy and strong and with me following him, but after many nights, he had become very sick and too weak to walk. And in the dreams near the end, I am carrying him.

By the other night, my dreams were no longer a frail source of comfort for my grief, but had become a harassing spirit. I was looking at an old screen which entirely filled my view and live portraits of my Dad were playing continuously on the screen.

But I didn't want to see them anymore or watch anymore; I wanted the old time picture to just end. I felt like a captive, bound to a chair, and forced to watch a screen for days on end. In my dream, I was begging for it to stop. However, I realized in my dream that I could pray. So I prayed that the images would stop and I awoke, crying and feeling like someone had injected a large amount of sugar into my body. An overdose. I was restless for hours unable to return to sleep.

I guess I had gotten an answer of sorts.
I was holding onto something I needed to let go.
I needed to let him rest.

Though my flesh knows he's gone, my mind tries to pretend he's still alive.

Accepting the truth sometimes is more than just a choice, it requires an all out effort. And sometimes it seems too difficult. I even question whether it's something I can even do... or will it just happen on its own.