Monday: Miracles Happen


On Saturday night, I told you of my conversation with my invisible father, asking him why he came around, if he wasn’t going to show himself, and I surmised that he did that to spite me, for reasons we know about each other.

On Sunday I got up and his energy was gone. I went about my life. Sunday night I went to bed, thinking about him. But I slept well and not disturbed.

Today, Monday, I had a full day of running errands, grocery shopping and unpacking. I did some earlier writing about some of my concerns with the gender changes to our National Anthem. I am not pleased at all.

Honor – Respect – Dignity and Memory …

If we strip those things from all that we hold sacred as a nation, then what ?

In the evening, before I had to get ready to go out for the evening, around 4 o’clock, I went to take a nap until 6. My dreams usually follow a predictable path.

It takes me a while, unassisted, to get to sleep on my own. But once I get to sleep, I sleep for the duration. And almost always, my Technicolor dreams come at the tail end of a sleep cycle.

If someone is going to ring my phone, as ALWAYS happens, that damned phone rings at the most inopportune moments, as a dream is hitting its climactic end. And usually, I always miss the END. All the time.

It never fails.

Today, I was in a dream. Talking about clothes, as I was standing in front of my closet door, which is next to my bed. I was talking away to whomever was there, and like a lightning flash, unannounced and without fanfare, my FATHER appears in front of me in corporeal form.

Color me shocked !

I looked at his face. I reached out and I embraced him. I heard him speak to me, saying that he was sorry.

I was besides myself really.

In a flash, he turned and was gone. And I shot out of bed like a maniac.

He returned. He came back. After I mused as to why he was even here to begin with.

I got showered and hit the meeting. On the walk back to the station, I Face Timed my aunt in Florida. The first words out of my mouth were, “I saw my father.”

As I walked along the sidewalk I was sobbing uncontrollably.

It was the second time I cracked. The first time was when I called one of my cousins and said the words … “My father is dead.”

We both agreed that he really had no purpose in coming back to me after the way he treated me in this life. Yet, I know God forgave him everything, and I needed to forgive him everything as well.

I saw my father. In corporeal form.

I can go on now.

I am free…

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