There is a hole in the wall. You look through it. What do you see?

I am reminded of that scene in the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy first steps onto the Yellow Brick Road and everything turns from black and white into color. Only in my case, when I look through the hole in the wall everything turns from its normal color into brilliant hues. It’s as if all my senses are heightened. Colors are more vivid, smells are more intense, sounds more crisp and clear.

I’m looking into a living room where a party is going on. The music is thumping, the smell of popcorn is in the air, and there are lots of smiles and chatter. Everyone knows one another, and at first nobody seems to notice that I am watching, all alone, from the hole in the wall.

Suddenly above the din, I hear my name being called repeatedly. But instead of “Sharon” it’s “Sher.” It’s a familiar voice. Only my dad ever called me that nickname. I turn my head, scanning the people in the room. How could this be possible? My eyes light on a big blue couch up against one wall of the room, and sure enough, there sits my dad, watching me. He has a big grin on his face and his right hand pats the empty spot beside him on the couch, as if to say, “Come and join me.”  He looks exactly like he did the last 10 years of his life.

I can’t believe my eyes and my heart is pounding, but I hurry over to join him and give him a big hug.

This is actually a wonderful dream I had one night, except the hole in the wall was the front door of a home. After my dad died in 2002, a friend of mine told me that if I experienced the same thing she had, someday I would have a happy dream about my dad which would make me feel at peace. In the words of Henry Scott Holland, “Death is nothing at all. I am I and you are you, and whatever we were to each other, that we still are. I have only slipped away into the next room. I am waiting for you somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well.”