March 5, 2005

I woke up this morning crying, my wet face buried in my pillow. In that hazy state between wake and sleep, I had let my guard down, and at first I couldn't quite figure out why. Then memories from the dream that still floated under my eyelids came rushing back. I had dreamt about Dennis. In my dream he was still here, and it seemed so real. I could feel him as I snuggled next to him on the couch and we joked together about something I've already forgotten. The realness of it all made me grieve his death all over again. I wish he was still here. I could fill this whole journal with that sentiment as strongly as I feel it right now. I wish he was still here.

I don't think I've cried like this since the days immediately following his death, three years ago today. I miss him. I miss his hugs, his laughs, the feel of his beard against my cheek. I miss how I always felt safe and cared for when he was around. I miss Dennis.

This morning's dream was like a gift, but the pain of waking up was almost too much. I feel like he was here, and now I remember again that he's not. It's hard for me to believe that it's been three years. Three years since we joked together, since he played the guitar for me, since his last hug for me. I miss him and this morning I let myself remember. And now the tears won't stop. I try to focus on the good, but somehow that makes the tears come faster. There are so many good memories that I was never thankful for until it was too late.

I know the tears won't last forever. I'll blow my nose, wash my face, and move on. But I'm somehow thankful for this early morning mourning. God has allowed me to miss the only real earthly father I've ever known. And I'm thankful He understands these tears I cry.