I had that dream again. Dad was in it. Younger Dad, the version of him from my high school years. The first time I had this dream months ago, his passing was a cruel mistake. It turned out he hadn’t died after all. The mystery of why he was gone and returned was never answered but I got the best hug from my Dad. I woke up crying. When I remember that dream I get teary eyed, even now as I type this. I didn’t tell my Mom about that dream, thought it might just make her sad. When I told my aunt and niece about it when I was in the Philippines, we all cried.

This second time, I was actually at some kind of mausoleum. Maybe I was there to check on his resting place? But instead of a headstone, Dad comes walking around a corner wall. He’s somehow shorter than I remember, but it is him, high school years version, in a familiar short sleeved yellow polo collared shirt. Again he isn’t dead after all and we hug. It’s the best hug but he feels cold and somehow getting shorter. I think I start to ask where he’s been all this time. Then I either wake up or move into another dream.