Today a month has passed since Jolene’s 24th birthday. I will blog about that tonight. This is a bonus blog.
I don’t often remember dreams. But last night, about 4 AM, I dreamed about Jolene. I remember only a very brief part of the dream. The woman was recognizable as my daughter. Her hair was cut in a dark, short bob, not the longer style she usually preferred, often unwashed. She seemed older, like she was in her 30s. I looked at her in surprise, but not the disbelief a real life encounter would trigger.
The older Jolene looked at me sheepishly. She looked like she wanted to say, “I’m sorry I caused you so much worry.”
Before we could embrace, or talk, or catch up, or—do anything—I woke up. The aftereffect of the dream lasted for a nanosecond. Jolene’s alive. Then the reality sank in. It was only a dream.
After that, I had trouble sleeping. But I accept the dream as a special gift from God, when I look back on the day that we should have celebrated Jolene’s birth. Jolene is alive, she is well, and she will always be a part of my life.