Vivid Dreams

Yesterday morning my dad wakened with three contradictory ideas held firmly in his mind. First, he'd died during the night. We spent several conversations convincing him he was still alive. It included going over who had already died ahead of him, and the list was long. Plus, we were still with him, and we were still very much alive.

Second, he hadn't had any sleep at all. He'd spent the night paddling a boat down the deepest river there is, over a thousand feet deep. The way he said it he meant depth from the surface down canyon walls to the river, not water depth.

Third, the problem with the experience was that he had dreamed it was very cold, and he was sure in his dream that it was the cold which kept him alive: if it had warmed up he would have been dead.

The most surreal part was that none of the contradictions in these three ideas ever occurred to him: awake vs. dreaming, alive vs. dead.

I do somehow manage to keep a straight face during these morning conversations. I figure it's just a gesture of respect. Reality can intrude later. Like this morning.

He wanted to sit up right away. He had something very serious that he wanted to tell me. He'd been mulling over whether or not to do so for the last 36 hours.

(What? Did he want to tell me he was dying? Like we hadn't had that discussion several times already? Oh yeah, he'd have forgotten all of them. But that wasn't it.)

He needed to tell me that the war was over. Last night his unit had bombed _____ Island (he actually supplied a name, he with the terrible memory for names), where the last of the Germans and Japanese armies were meeting, and they were all destroyed. All fighting had ceased.

There was to be a victory breakfast in the middle of the town this morning at 10:00, and I was invited. What did I think of that?

Sorry, I'll miss it. I have to be at work. "Sounds wonderful."

"America will never fire a shot again." He thought a minute, and ammended, "If they can help it."

Oh, if only!!!

Gradually he came to understand that the war had been over for years. After all, I was his daughter, and I hadn't even been born at the end of the war. Now I was a 62-year-old old lady. And this other person (getting him ready to walk to his chair - needing stronger support than I can give) was his grandson, and he was 38.

He puzzled over this a bit, and asked where was he all those years? So I filled him in on some high points of his life the last 65 years.

Later, in the living room as we watched the news and weather together as part of our morning coffee ritual, he turned to me and asked, "You're a war hero. How come you have to go to work?"

"Well, Daddy, first, I'm not a war hero. I've never been in the military. And even you had to go to work after the war ended."

After a heartbeat, he growled, "Well, there's a four-letter-word for that situation!"

Amen.

I almost can't wait to see what idea he'll wake up with tomorrow.

Almost.