July 8, 2013. He would've been 70.

I am waiting in a lobby of some sort. A hotel. Maybe a venue. The room seems empty except for me. I can hear the walk clock ticking.

Footsteps echo in the quiet. Around the corner, a body appears.

I recognize him immediately. Although, now, as I recollect the dream, I cannot picture if he is the young dark haired father of my youth. Or if it is the grey haired plump dad I grew up with, ready with a smile and a meal. Or even, if it is the frail stick-thin old man I knew right before his death, still smiling, still animated.

But I know it is it him. And my first reaction is joy. Happiness at seeing him. The initial urge to run up and give him a hug.

However, Rational Brain speaks up and reminds me, "He is dead." 

"This cannot be real."

And, I realize, I am in a dream.

This makes me want to ignore him. To not listen to him speaking to me. Not touch him. Approach him. I fight the urge to make contact with him. I don't hear the words that are coming out of his mouth.

My mother, then, makes an appearance. She pleads with me to speak to him. She asks that Rational Brain believe this is real.

"I am real. I am alive," she reasons. "This must be real too."

There is a flicker there when I think she might be right. I am fighting with my Rational Brain.

But it wins. And I ignore them both.

I leave them both in the lobby and wander down dark empty hallways 'til I hear my alarm.

Only to awaken with the lingering wish that I had only just hugged him.
Despite my Rational Brain.