"And you should always know, Wherever you may go, no matter where you are, I never will be far away"

Standing in a foreign yet familiar place, I am reminded of a family friend’s vast backyard surrounded by greenery. Standing on the luscious grass, I don’t remember them installing an in-ground swimming pool, yet here I am, staring at its rectangular shape with a diving board. I know what I’m seeing is a dream. A quiet internal voice tells me so. But, the external sounds express concern as someone is scooping out Cheerios from the pool.

My dad

I rush over, with my dad by my side. We are supposed to start judging the foam noodle contest. It’s a serious occasion or at least that’s the sense. Staring at the pink and green pool toys, I don’t know the criteria for the contest, but I see a girl decked out in pool attire, balancing her weight on a pink one amid the Cheerios. I look down at the clipboard I’m holding. With pencil in hand, I am about to make a mark when my awareness begins to fade.

The ambience changes. My dad and I are now standing inside, in the living room of the house, staring out through the glass wall; something that doesn’t exist in reality. The chaotic sounds coming from the pool are distant.

He looks down at me earnestly, the way he did before the cancer, when he was healthy and strong. I stand on my tip toes, my hand on his shoulder for support, claiming I can almost see over his head. He chuckles, “Not quite,” he says of his additional five or six inches. “Almost only counts in H bombs, hand grenades, and horseshoes.”

“And softball catches and Nintendo,” I add, a part of another joke between us.

When the laughter fades, he expounds on his sincere thoughts. They're heartfelt and remind me of the marathon talks we had once upon a time. He finishes with “remember this …”

I assure him I will as my eyes begin to flutter until they are open.

Within moments I emerge from beneath the warm covers and wander into the hallway. I know I’m supposed to remember something. I can feel it. It’s genuine and necessary, but the further I get from the bedroom, the faster the memory fades.

By midday, I hear myself say “graham cracker,” which has no significance to me. As I make note of it on social media, one particular response stands out among the rest: “They're cheering us on, pulling strings in support of our intended manifestations. Never judging. All Love,” he wrote.

The words sit with me and I concentrate on what my dad might have said.

It’s then I remembered the evening commute from he first day of my new job several weeks ago. As my little vehicle crossed over the state line, I switched off the radio, and looked upward. Taking notice of vibrant foliage, I spoke aloud to the heavens above asking for guidance, opinions, and strength to take on this new journey. This new job I started had exceeded my own personal career goals and now that I am officially on the team, I wondered, “can I do this?”

I demanded answers right then and there, knowing patience is not a virtue I have. I said names like a grocery list and recalled those who have passed but that I talk to regularly. I asked namely for my dad, best friend, gramma, and long-ago friend. No one responded.

I drove in silence and listened to the gentle hum of the tires on the pavement. I appreciated the leaves changing color, grateful to live in New England in autumn. I wondered who would respond to me first and if they receive the message at the same time and pow-wow about response protocol or if it’s a crap-shoot and they will all come in their own time. Or, maybe they’ll disregard me entirely.

As I reached the exit, I was disappointed by the lack of a mystic experience and my mind wandered back to household matters. The moment was soon forgotten.

Returning to the present, I let go of the “graham cracker” thought and remember the earnestness and sincerity in the moments with my dad. A rush of calm and peace sweep over me as I recall the tranquility and positivity. It’s no longer about the words, but the emotions. It’s as if he said, “Great job, sweetheart. Go show them what you can do. I’m proud of you.”