After a long battle with Parkinson's related dementia and cancer, my Dad lost the fight in early July of this year. I had just visited with him a week before and he gave me no indication of knowing who I was. He became, quite literally, a shell of his former self. As his daughter it was very hard to watch.
While I live in Arizona, and Dad lived in Massachusetts, what I'm about to relay happened while I was in Amsterdam. Two weeks after Dad passed, I was visiting Amsterdam. A year ago I had planned a trip to Europe, not realizing my Dad would be leaving right before that trip. At the urging of my family, I still took the trip. They convinced me it was what Dad would want me to still do. After all, he was a world traveler himself.
During my final night in Amsterdam, I had fallen into a deep sleep, woke up once around 4am to use the bathroom, and then went right back to bed. I suddenly found myself standing at the edge of an old cobblestone bridge. I was waiting expectantly at the end for someone when suddenly a man came into view. He was surrounded by people of varying heights and ages. As he came closer, I could see the man in the center was my Dad. The people surrounding him were different versions of himself throughout his life. I saw Dad as a toddler, a teenager, a young man, a middle-aged man, and finally, an old man (which is what he was when he passed at 78). As he drew closer, all but the middle aged version of him and the old man version remained. The other images disappeared.
The middle-aged version of Dad appeared healthy and happy. He smiled brightly when he saw me. The old man version remained in the back and did not acknowledge me at all or make eye contact. But the healthy, happy version of Dad seem to be lit from within. He gazed at me like someone who hadn't seen a loved one in a very long time. He embraced me and then gasped in what sounded like relief. Other than that, he didn't say a word. It was okay though. His smile said it all. I hugged him back and was happy to feel that he wasn't all bones like he was a few weeks prior.
I could see the outfit he was wearing; gray mock turtleneck with a navy windbreaker, and jeans. I'm not sure why I remember that outfit. It's not something I recall him wearing in life.
As quickly as it started, the dream was over. I knew when I woke up that this was no ordinary dream. This was a visitation. After leaving Amsterdam, I flew back to the Boston area for services. I let my sisters know of what I had dreamt and that I really felt Dad was alright. I relayed the event with tears in my eyes and could barely speak recounting it. My middle sister recently told me she dreamt of Dad too. He appeared, also middle-aged (when I believe he was the happiest) and healthy. He spoke to her but she couldn't remember what he said. My youngest sister is still hoping for a visitation as well and wondered if he chose to visit us in order of our ages. I really do hope she will be next on his list of visitations.
Thanks for reading.
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