Dreams are illustrations. . . from the book your soul is writing about you.
~Marsha Norman
It was just before sunrise. I shuffled into the family room, which was aglow from the lights on the Christmas tree. The faint smell of pine drifted about. All was silent save for the old clock on the mantel ticking away.
At first I didn’t notice him sitting on the couch.
When I did, I wasn’t startled or surprised, even though it had been almost six years since I had seen him. For some reason I didn’t find it strange, even though part of me said I should have.
He wore the old tattered yellow robe I remembered him wearing from my childhood. He didn’t look like he did at the end of his life — taut, hallow and frail, just before God stopped his heart and called him home. No, he looked like he did when he was full of life. During that time when I was a boy and he mowed an acre of lawn on a hot summer day fueled only by a glass of sweet tea.
Now he was staring at the lights on the tree and gently petting the dog whose head rested on his lap. It was as if they’d been friends forever.
I sat on the floor in front of the couch near him, just as I did when I was little. I caught a hint of the Old Spice aftershave he always used.
“Hello, Dad,” I said quietly.
He smiled, glanced at me, and then looked back at the tree. There was a soft glow on his face from the lights.
“You know something, son,” he said. “This was always my favorite day of the year.”
His voice was so familiar. That was the voice that used to chide me for not finishing my homework, or boom when he told me how proud he was of me. That voice would tell a story that brought laughter from everyone, or gently tell me that everything would be okay.
“I used to love Christmas Day,” he said. “I loved the fact that for at least one day we were all together, all happy. That we were all a family.”
He looked over at me. His gentle smile made me feel a warmth I had not felt in years.
“It didn’t matter what happened the other 364 days of the year,” he said. “For that one day…”
He chuckled, “You know your mom and I had our little disagreements through the years.”
He looked back at the tree still smiling.
“We used to fight like cats and dogs,” he sighed. “But that woman loved me unconditionally. And Lord knows I loved her. No matter what crazy scheme I had — buying that failing trucking company, moving halfway across the country — she stood by me. Didn’t matter what it was; she kept me in clean underwear, kept our house clean, and kept you kids fed and healthy.”
He was silent for a moment, stroking the dog’s head.
“And you kids,” he laughed quietly again. “Man, you kids used to argue, yell at each other.”
“But you know something?” he said. “On Christmas Day, we were always together, happy. We were a family. Opening presents, smiling laughing. Eating way too much. Never arguing, just loving each other.”
“God how I treasured that,” his voice trailed off. He sighed before continuing. “It’s a shame we could never carry that feeling over the rest of the year. It didn’t seem long before we were back to the routine.”
“Just a shame,” he whispered.
He looked back at me. I remembered the same look from the times when he told me, “If you’re going to do something, do it right, or don’t do it at all.”
“I hope you can understand it,” he said. “Understand how lucky you are. You have people who love you unconditionally, a wife who keeps you in clean underwear, keeps your house clean and your kids fed.
“And those kids,” he paused and smiled. “They are happy, healthy and thriving.
“Try to keep this feeling,” he said. “The feeling on Christmas Day when you have your family all here, happy, healthy, smiling, laughing, loving one another. Try to keep that feeling every single day of the year.
“Never, ever lose that. That feeling of being grateful for what you have.” He sighed again.
“There are richer men, bigger houses, people who have more ‘things,’ ” he paused for a moment. “But there are many who will never know the love of a family.
“I was richer than any billionaire. Blessed beyond belief. Had more than I ever needed. I had you kids and your mom… and at the end of the day that’s all I ever needed.
“And son, that’s all you’ll ever need, too.”
He looked back at the tree.
“I had such a good life.” A single tear rolled down his cheek. His voice was near a whisper. “A very good life. And every Christmas Day I was reminded of just how good a life I had.”
I looked over at the tree, trying to soak in the words he had spoken. The lights blurred and merged as tears filled my eyes. As always, he was right.
But I wanted to hear more. Hear the voice that brought me so much comfort as a child. The voice that taught me so much. The voice that shaped the man — the father — that I have become.
As I turned, however, he was gone. My cheeks were damp. I wiped my face and then reached out and touched the spot where he had been sitting, hoping, praying he would return. The dog softly whimpered, but the spot remained empty. I imagined I could still detect the scent of Old Spice in the air, melting away and replaced with the scent of pine. The old clock on the mantel continued ticking.
I didn’t want to wake up. I wanted to remain in the dream just a little longer.
Soon, I sat by the Christmas tree for real, looked at the glowing lights and smiled. Because I am grateful: for family, friends, and life.
I have a very good life, and every Christmas Day I am reminded just how good it is.
It’s something we all need to remember. A feeling we should carry with us every single day of every single year. Whether we have a vivid dream to remind us or not.
~Greg Engle
