a visitation

I was holding his hand but talking only to her. Somewhere deep inside I knew who he was and that he wouldn’t speak, but his grip was strong. I tried to look at him but I couldn’t focus on the figure before me.

Then I remembered and began to weep, my own silent sob waking me. The tears, hot and fresh, were real but his hand was imagined, though my palm still felt a warm impression, as if he’d really been there.

I closed my eyes, laid my head on my damp pillow, and tried to fall to back to sleep.

It’s not the first time he’s visited in my dreams, nor I expect, will it be the last. It’s a rare appearance but if these are the only moments I can still spend with him, I’ll have to take it them as they are.

I love you too Pop, come see me anytime.

 

Comments

2 Responses to “a visitation”

  1. CathiC on April 24th, 2013 8:28 am

    Achingly beautiful, Annette. ((HUGS))

  2. Stimey on April 24th, 2013 8:38 am

    Those kinds of dreams are so precious.