Yada Yada Yada

I am in a weird place. Ever been there? Memories, memories, memories have flooded my thoughts and dreams this week, and I honestly don’t know why.
 
Isn’t it bizarre how we can dream vividly about activities from 50 years ago, but sometimes can’t remember what we did on Monday?
 
My dreams were about my father’s funeral – like it happened yesterday. I woke up in a cold sweat with a racing heartbeat. What in the world?
 
I do not have a lot of memories from that day. The shock was too traumatic for an 18-year-old. But I remember sitting against a wall with two dear friends at my side - Randy and Mike - both holding my hands so tightly. No words were spoken. A caring touch was all the comfort I needed. Or maybe they just couldn’t find words…
 
Beyond that, I only remember the High Masonic Rights performed by grown men wearing white gloves and the nauseating stench of flowers – primarily roses. He was loved by many.
 
I would love to think that the dream was a message from my dad reminding me that he is always with me. Or, at least, that is what a psychic told me 30 years ago – that he was my guardian angel and with me all the time.
 
And of course, I exacerbated the problem by watching the Hallmark Channel all weekend. You know what I speak of – syrupy sweet hypothetical perfection about families and love and adventure that ultimately makes me crinkle my nose and think sarcastically “yada yada yada.”
 
Once, I think I actually snarled and stuck my tongue out at them.
 
It is like your favorite song, right? Sometimes it makes your heart flutter and your cheeks hurt from the expanse of your smile. Other times it brings heartache and tears. It is beyond comprehension.
 
But today, all is good. I slept like a rock (hmm, do rocks sleep?) and rose for the first time in days without a crick in my neck.
 
Maybe memories are just tools of acceptance. When we question our mortality and wonder what in the hell life is all about, someone or something jolts us back to reality. It is a gift, pure and simple, from a Master Designer that knows all and guides us mysteriously down paths of righteousness.
 
Today I saw a picture of my best friend and me donning caps and gowns on our High School Commencement night. It was one month after I lost my father, and the look on my face was so telling. It was devoid of emotion. Maybe my dream was a subconscious act to empty the pain of that moment from my head and my heart.
 
It is good sometimes to just let go, agreed? And oh yeah. I really can’t remember what I did on Monday. Ah, but that is fodder for yet another rant.
 

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