We wake in the night, my mother and me,
To a sound hear afar from a source yet unseen.
Sitting up from the couch, feeling a bit shaken,
Questioning what to do next, both remaining uncertain.
We tiptoe to the doorway and peek our heads over,
Peering down the hallway toward a vast open parlor.
Nothing of notice, so our hearts begin to beat faster,
A thought crosses my mind, all else is then shattered.
In a moment of certainty, I shout for my father.
And just as quick as the thought, his spirt comes hither.
In seconds, he stands right before us in tears. Sadness on his face, what seems to have pent up for years.
His body looked healthy, and his hair freshly cut, the best I've seen him in ages.
The scene that plays next is one for the pages.
He wraps his arms around me, a warm embrace.
he then sets me free, looking directly at my mother's face.
"I'm sorry," he says, "Sorry for everything I've ever done."
The look of acceptance on her face shone brighter than the sun.
A soft sound was heard, what soon turned to music.
My body awoke, the dream all but an illusion.
The message was clear, a visitation was reached.
I took that teaching forward, to help my mother be at peace.
She reached her acceptance while he remained alive,
But receiving those words, even from the ethereal,
Was nothing short of a surprise.
We'll see you again, Dad, if only in our dreams.
Visitations are real, whatever real means.
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