Dreams

I have incredibly vivid dreams. Sometimes I even lucid dream. The other night, I had a dream with my grandfather. He died when I was 14. In my dream, I was sitting in the hallway of a hotel and I was reading one of my favorite Sylvia Plath books. I heard a door open, and there he was, staring at me. We sat down together and he held my hands. He wasn't very sentimental with people, and I liked that about him. When I was younger, he would hold my hand when we were out and about, it made me feel special. His hands were exactly the same as they were before he died, I kissed them and they were chilly, as always. I can still feel the wrinkles in his hands, the callouses, his veins against my lips. I didn't want to wake up. He told me he loved me, that he missed me, and that everything would work out, that he was proud of how much better I've gotten. Pops was happy that I've gotten back to baseball, and to singing. He also told me to tell my mother to stop hiding pictures of him and of her father. I miss him so terribly. His death is what really started my fight with depression. I had lost someone who meant the world to me, who taught me so much. He taught me about baseball, Frank Sinatra, and he liked to hear me sing. I stopped doing them for a while, because it hurt, it hurt so much that he wasn't there to enjoy it with me. But this dream reminded me, he always will.