My Dream about Papaw James

Last night, I dreamt about my papaw James. I do not remember where we were, but I was with Mike. Papaw just walked out of a door and I said, with much excitement, "My papaw is alive!" and ran to him. I hugged him and my face was just above his waist, where it would reach when I was a child, though I was not a child in my dream. His arms fell behind my head, arms resting on my back. I smashed my face into his belly. It was a dream, but I smelt him. Sitting here now, I can remember how he smelled, how he always smelled. He was a hard working man, always out in his field, tending his animals and gardens. And that is how he smelled, like a man who worked hard. But I never found his smell offensive, he just smelled like papaw. He said something to me, but I do not remember what it was. Now, as I remember the dream, I hugged him, more so than he hugged me and I looked up at him and he seemed preoccupied, though dreams are not like reality, and the adult child in the dream did not notice his distraction at the time. I notice it now. And if dreams mean anything, I interpret it as knowing that he is about greater things right now. I cling to an earthly memory of him, a fleeting moment in a life that the Bible describes as a blink of an eye. He was exactly how I remembered him, in a cotton plaid short sleeved shirt tucked in gray tousers with a belt. Though I did not think of it in my dream, he was probably wearing a white v-neck t-shirt underneath. As I sit here now and write this, that is how I picture him sitting at the small table that sat in my grandparent's kitchen, eating breakfast, one of his feet resting on his opposite knee. I see him with a smile on his face, he was so full of joy, and he spread that to all who knew him. I will never forget how meticulously he opened his Christmas presents. He would sit with his pocket knife and carefully cut the tape, never tearing the paper. We all watched him, amused by his patience, but urging him to rip them open. If he ever tore his wrapping paper, I do not remember. Oh, as I write, I am flooded with my childhood memories of him and it causes me to long to embrace him again. I shared this dream with my brother and he assured me, "one day it will be real." As I proclaimed in my dream, "my papaw is alive!", he is alive, more so that we are as my brother told me. I hate to admit that I rarely long for heaven as I should. Today, I do.