When I get down in the dumps, I try to buck myself up be reminding myself that not everything is disappointing, or irritating, or hard. I count my blessings and list things I'm grateful for and remember that I'm a lot better off than a whole lot of people.
Sometimes it works.
I've had to do that a lot this month, but hey - that's February for you. It's cold, mostly grey, kinda damp, but every few days a bright, sharp, sunny day pierces the gloom. A cloudy spittin' rain sort of day ends with a glorious sunset and rainbow.
So it goes.
In the deep part of the night, I dreamed that I was in some sort of hotel (a dream I have a lot). I was packing up to go when my Pop came around the corner and gathered me up in a great big hug. I hugged him back, just reveling in feeling his face against mine, and he told me that everything was going to be all right, and then the dream dissolved.
This sort of thing never ever happened when he was alive. He wasn't a hugger. But it was definitely him in that dream, definitely hugging me, definitely telling me that all would be well.
But I lay there in the bed, half awake and half asleep, feeling that hug and knowing that it was not just a dream, but a visit.
Thanks, Pop. I think you're right.