Cherub

It had been a long day.

A day of welcoming, recalling names, standing in lines, crying, holding back tears, laughing, kissing, smiling, clutching hands, listening, processing, and saying goodbye to the most important man in my life.

My father was dead. At the young age of 62, he laid down to take a nap like any other day and just didn't wake up My mother tried to wake him--shook him, pleaded with him, but he never stirred. The paramedics said it was a heart attack and it was quick. That really he felt no pain and was lucky it happened in his sleep. Lucky that it hit him and he was gone. But his wife, mother, nine children and twenty-six grandchildren didn't feel lucky. They all, resolutely felt robbed.

And as did the droves of people who showed up at St. Martin's for his funeral. The church was packed full with old friends, co-workers and people who knew him from the neighborhood. There wasn't one young boy from our neighborhood who wasn't coached by my father at the after-school programs at the playground. The same boys were now men, marching up the aisle paying their respects to us--their beloved coach's family. It was an overflowing sight of love and respect for my father that truly touched me. It was truly a testament to his life and what he left behind.

But I was restless and uneasy.

Funerals are rough for everyone. I knew this all too well--my last funeral being for my still-born daughter nine years earlier. I was medicated and numb, but I felt every second of my loss as I gave birth to her knowing she was dead. I never saw her, it was too painful but we named her Frances before they took her away. She was buried in my parents plot, where my father would soon join her. I've never been to the cemetary.

This was different. I was sad like any other mourning child, but there was something else. Something that made the sadness even worse. I just couldn't figure out what it was.

And it ate at me all day and into that night when I was home, tucking my four daughters into bed. I kissed their eye-lids shut and watched as reality drifted into sweet, innocent dreams. I lingered in my youngest, Elizabeth's, room. My last baby, who would turn two later in the year. She'd never know her Pop-Pop, I thought as I closed her bedroom door and retreated into my bedroom.

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The light was blinding. Pure white, without even a blemish of color to be seen. I held my hand up to my eyes,  trying to give myself a few seconds to adjust. Where am I, I thought.

Peeking through my fingers, the light no longer stung my eyes. But fuzzy outlines started to form around me. Outlines that became people who I did not recognize. As they came closer, I realized they were also five feet taller than me. I was looking up at all of them--as if I was on my knees. I looked down to my legs and saw that I was standing at full height, but still everyone that surrounded me was far taller.

I suddenly felt extremely claustrophobic and wanted to get out. Or at least see something other then the knees of the people around me. I felt like a little child again. I--wait. A thought occurred to me.When I was little, anytime I lost Daddy all I'd do is stand on a chair and I'd find him. He was 6'3 and usually heads over most so he was always easy to find at that height. In that moment, all I wanted was a chair.

And for some reason, one appeared next to me.

I scrambled onto it and stood up tall, peering over the heads of the people around me.

And there he was.

Right in the midst of them all was Daddy. My heart skipped a beat just with a glimpse of him. "Daddy," I yelled and waived my arms towards him. I was so excited that I started laughing and crying at the same time. He was right in front of me, he never left!

But he looked right through me. He didn't even see me. I kept yelling his name and jumping up and down, but he didn't see. He looked around him with a blank stare. A stare that quickly changed to confusion and panic. He looked from side to side, almost frantically. He doesn't know where he is, I thought.

All I wanted to do was jump off the chair and run to him. To hold him forever and take him home with me. But from the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of a body appear ten feet from him and I froze.

It was a little girl. With light brown hair, that curled up into tight ringlets that circled her face. She was oddly familiar....That's me?

"Pop! Pop," she yelled as she ran towards him. He turned to her and stepped back. She took his hands in hers and she beamed up at him.

"Janie," he asked the little girl.

She shook her head no, and the smile on her face radiated warmth and love. She motioned for him to come down to her. He obeyed and she whispered into his ear. The smile passed from her to him and he swooped her up in a big bear hug. They both laughed and hugged for minutes longer. Then she pulled back, and motioned to the room and everyone surrounding them. My father looked with wander at all those who surrounded him, and they continued to talk. But I couldn't hear a word of it--all I could hear was a light buzzing sound, almost like a bees.

As they continued to talk, I saw a sort of solemness pass his face that eventually lifted to a calm. He looked back to the little girl in his arms. He smiled down at her again and rubbed her curls against his cheek. Then, without warning, he swung her around so her legs kicked out and she was flying. They both laughed.

It was only then that I saw the tiny set wings attached to her back.

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My eyes fluttered open. I was in bed and it was all a dream.

A dream that has stuck with me from then on after. I no longer felt uneasy about my father's death. Because I knew he was at peace and that my angel, my still-born baby Frances, welcomed him into paradise.

This is a retelling of a dream my Mother had the night of my Grandfather's funeral. She only recently told anyone about this dream, but it is something that has comforted her greatly in the years that passed both of their deaths.