COLUMN: When lost loved ones reappear

     The other night I had a beer with The Big Guy.

     In real life, that would be quite a trick. “The Big Guy” was the nickname my siblings and I affectionately used for my father, who passed away in 2014.

     But in my dream, he was as real as could be, as was the hockey game we were watching.

     It happens every once in a while. Mom shows up in my dreams sometimes too, but that is more rare, perhaps owing to the fact that she has been gone since 1997.

     I had a stepmom (Dad remarried in 1999) whom my sons knew as Grandma Patty. She died last month, and we went to her memorial service, which happened to be on Super Bowl Sunday. Sometimes Patty, who was awesome to our family, will appear in my dreams as well.

     When a dream includes a lost loved one, it’s always a source of comfort. It doesn’t seem like any big deal while the dream is happening, but then I wake up, think about what happened, and say, “Wow!”

     Like a lot of people, I suspect, my dreams aren’t always good. I spent some time as a restaurant waiter in my high school and college years, and for literally decades after that, I would have the occasional we-are-way-too-busy-and-don’t-have-enough-help dream. Everyone should be a waiter or waitress at some point. You will forever treat them better.

     The other recurring dream had to do with college, and it would always be a variation on the same scenario: It was mid-term, exams were coming up, and I hadn’t been attending class.

     I was rarely a class-skipper when I was an actual student, but for some reason, I would still wake up, years later, and wonder for a groggy moment or two whether I truly earned my diploma.

     I’m always glad when those dreams are over. But there are others for which I wish I could dream a little longer.

     Every winter, I have the dream where a horse racing track in some warmer climate is open, and I get to go and watch the races, one of my favorite things in the world to do. Inevitably the dream ends with me realizing what it was, and suddenly longing for the day in late April when the ponies will thunder around the Prairie Meadows track once again.

     But every now and again The Big Guy will appear. On this occasion we were talking, laughing, and taking in a game, something we had done many, many times in years gone by.

     Then the game ended; I don’t recall how it came out. I went to find my brother, who for some reason was elsewhere in the arena, so we could all head out together.

     When I got back to our spot, The Big Guy was gone. And then I woke up.

     It didn’t make me sad. I was glad for the time I got to spend with him, even in a dream. In fact, I hope my deceased loved ones continue to show up in my dreams for years to come.

     And whomever you are missing, I hope they show up for you, too.