Wings For the Departed

I dream a lot.

Sometimes my dreams trigger stories, so if I try to describe them here, imagine them in full-blown, movie-quality, technicolor. The grass is Springtime Green, the sky a Midsummer Blue, and sometimes the blood is, well, Blood-Red.

Having said that, sometimes my dreams help me interpret and process struggles I’m experiencing, and moments when I don’t even know why my waking hours may seem a bit unsettled and off for me, dreams provide me with “Aha!” moments.

Such is the dream I had last night.

My son-in-law had come to visit and was happened to show up at his house when I dropped by. Yeah. The same son-in-law who passed away last September, so I was certainly surprised. The conversation starts out like this:

Me: Oh, hey. *pausing* What are you doing here?

Him: I thought I’d drop by to see how it’s going.

He turns away from me to check on something in his dining room and I notice that shiny silver and gold wings have sprouted and have pierced holes through the back of the comfy, oversized tee shirt he has on. The wings are not very big, about nine inches long, but I notice when he moves his arms and upper back, they move too, so I know they are attached to his body and not part of some weird costume he’s donned. I’m briefly reminded of how he used to hold his little boy up in the air above him and my Gambaby would flutter his little arms like the very wings Kelly is now sporting. I am so happy to see him with wings! I think he’s been to Heaven; I want to take a closer look at them but think that would be a weird thing to ask, so instead I ask if he’s noticed anything different in his house. He tells me he has but he’s not there to fix anything, and he, in his Kelly-logic, tells me he wouldn’t be able to anyway since he has no income – nobody’s going to give him any money since he’s dead.

“Well, there’s that,” I reply, but mentally review what avenues I could help with since he’s deceased.

Instead, he helps me knock down and get through the many cobweb-questions that surround me in this visit from him, him with his matter-of-fact logic, telling me that he’s not staying long, he has just dropped by for a moment.

And I’m thinking he’s right. And that his little wings need more time to grow.

I ask if I can hug him.

He gives me his familiar, real-feeling, strong, Kelly-type-hug, and I think he doesn’t smell like anything familiar now, and I think that maybe I’ll get to see him again someday, perhaps when his wings have fully grown.

This morning, now that I’m awake and processing this dream, I think perhaps I am a baby step closer to healing from his passing, knowing that wings are a good sign.