Everyone dreams. I rarely remember mine. Last night I had a dream about my dad. He passed away a little over a year ago. I've missed him so. He was wearing his blue plaid shirt and old blue sweater and to be able to see him and hug him again was a wonderful gift. After dad passed away his old sweater was put into a bag for charity, but I pulled it out at the last minute and have kept it. On Mother's Day, my sweet mother presented each of us four children with a quilt that she had made for us. The quilts were made with some of my dad's old Levi's and mine even had some squares from one of his blue plaid shirts. Another amazing and wonderful gift.
I'm reading a book called 'have a little faith' by Mitch Albom. He talks about how dying is not always the thing we fear worst, but being forgotten after we are gone. I've thought about that, how my own children don't even remember my grandparents- who were such an important part of my life, and that my grandchildren won't remember my father. I don't know the answer, but I do believe that connecting through the generations makes us better as people. I'm grateful for the gifts that help me remember who I am and where I came from.
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