You Were There

I couldn’t sleep last night, Dad. I’ve got that biopsy this morning, and as hard as I wanted to just close my eyes and fall asleep, the thoughts of the last biopsy kept me awake. Two years ago. A simple procedure. One biopsy that turned into three, with eleven samples taken. The prognosis: Stage 4 Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.

For 18 months, it was blood work and treatment and scans. And then the news in September that I didn’t have to go back for six months. Until…

Another lump found, quite by accident.

And today’s the day we find out if I’m going to have to start all over again.

And you’re not here.

And I can’t sleep.

So, I grabbed my pillow and quietly walked out of my bedroom, slowly going down the stairs to try and not make a sound. I tossed the cushions from the sofa, and covered it with blankets. And as I laid down, I looked up to the ceiling and talked to you. “I know you’re here, dad. I know you can hear me. If I can fall asleep, let me have a dream of you, so I know…so I know you’re listening.”

I’m driving. It’s late. I’m supposed to pick up mom from the boutique. She’s working the store for me. It’s dark. As I pull up to the store, and park the car, I run up the front steps. The lights are on, and I open the door. And there you are. You and mom are sitting together, face to face. And you’re laughing. And she’s smiling. You’re wearing a white shirt and black dress pants. Fancy. Looks like you dressed up for her, tonight. You were there. Keeping her company. You were there, letting me know she’s not alone.

You were there.

And I know you’ll be there for me, today dad. Like you were when I was little. Like you were throughout my life – you’ve always been there.

Thank you for the signs. You keep sending them, and I’ll keep looking…