Had a dream last night that my dad was dying, and we were all in the house I grew up in on Josephine Street in Berkeley. In reality my dad died suddenly about two years ago while I was away. The dream was nice and as these things go, his presence was very life-like and seemingly real. He texted me, which is funny, because he never actually used text messages. In my dream, he texted me from the next room, even though we were having a vocal conversation at the same time, as people do these days. He wrote: “Deep clay.”
We talked a little about how people live on in their loved ones’ memories, and I felt then a sense of responsibility somehow, to remember him as accurately as I can. I don’t believe I have ever had that particular thought, before this dream. Luckily it’s not hard to remember him, as I had the good fortune of knowing my dad very well. And he was quite unique, not an easy person to forget. This was a nice visit, although a little strange. He knew, in the dream, that he was dying, and he seemed not entirely concerned about it. As for what he texted me, I’ll just leave that without expressing an interpretation of it, for the words are fine just as they are.
