I had a dream last night with my dad in it. I'm trying so hard to remember what happened, to hang on to any piece of him. I know he was wearing a dark sweater in a kitchen, walking around, just being himself, and Emily and I were noting how he looked slightly pudgier in the belly than we'd expected. It usually seems in my dreams that I'm aware that I'm being allowed to see my dad, with the understanding that he died, or was near death. So usually, I'm happy to see him in my dream, just as I in reality am happy to dream about seeing him.

I always yearn for such experiences, where, at least in my dream, I am close to him once more. I can see, hear, and touch him. The other day at church a little girl sat on her dad's lap, playing with his hair and tracing his ear with her finger. Oh gosh, I remember that sort of liberty a little girl has to explore her daddy's head. I remember staring at the back of my dad's as he was driving and I was considering the magic of hair. The precious relationship between father and daughter is a unique and beautiful thing.

When I was younger, my dad would tell me that he was already praying for my future. Now that I'm older, I'm always asking him to pray for me. It is a funny connection, to say, "Dad, you remember when you mentioned this so many years ago? Well, can you please pray about that now?" I still need his fatherly guidance and caretaking. Do I ever! I am thankful that I know that he continues to pray for me.

Of course I should take comfort in that, and I do. Much comfort! But still, I long even more that I could sit on his lap and run my fingers through his hair as I listen to his breathing, or even just to glimpse him buzzing around the kitchen in a dorky sweater.