A Dream

My little sister is 13 years old. Despite our constant bickering, I consider her one of the closest companion in my life. I have never, for the love of God, told her that I love her. But I do. Despite being in a young age, she is mature, understanding and caring.

This morning, while having breakfast, she told me she dreamed of our late father. She told me this quite calmly. I responded with a smile, telling her that it is a great thing to dream about the person we love and miss so terribly, especially those whom we will never meet again in this lifetime. Once I locked myself in the bedroom, my eyes began tearing up. Not because of sadness or grief or anything. Just that I yearn to see him. I don't pray to see him in my dreams so very often now compared to the earlier months of his passing. Yet the desire remains hidden at a corner of my heart. Too stubborn to leave. It has been half a year since I dreamed of my father.

I am quite in control of my emotions. Sadness and grief stay with me but they do not overwhelm me. They have ceased to dominate my life. Every time I wake up in the morning, I would think of my father. I would just think of him. No more anger, no more frustration. I send some love to the memories I have as a daughter and my day begins. Not that I wish for the grief to return but it would be nice to dream of him once in a while. It is a shallow thought, I know, yet I silently pray for the wish to be granted.

I love my late father so much. Even more so after his passing. Quite ironic and foolish, to be sure, how love and devotion have the capability of expanding rapidly when the subject of such love and devotion no longer exists. Still, I believe in the afterlife. I believe that my late father would know my feelings from his grave. I believe he would understand me and appreciate my feelings. I believe he would know how much I miss him. I believe he would know how I think of him every single second I am awake. And I also believe he would want me to be living life happily even when me myself, as the owner of my soul, have given up on happiness.