Cryin in my sleep used to be an almost nightly occurence. I would wake up to a wet face and an even more wet pillow, get up to blow my nose, softly turn my pillow over to the dry side, and pray for the peace to go back to sleep.
I haven't seen you in a while and those dreams are coming fewer and farther in between.
But you sure were there this morning, and somewhere in between Eric kissing my face goodbye and my alarm clock going off too soon, I fell at your feet and screamed loud screams, knowing it was just a dream. I woke up to my screams sounding more like a blubbering, moaning sound - the sound a dog makes when it is kicked by its cruel owner.
I sounded pathetic.
My own dog, LuLu, stared at me with concerned ears, licked my hand, and then lied back down.
I never want you to stop visiting my dreams, but Dad, do you think maybe we could just go horse-back riding in the next one? Or maybe sit by the piano and sing a tune? Because you just being there, silent, and all smiles is tearing up my heart. And no amount of coffee can help me recover from a night like that.
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