I dreamt of my Dad and Uncle Noel, guffawing in their ripe old age and portly figures, about to drive away in a bright compact on an equally bright morning. As I was walking past them, Noel, who was behind the wheel, couldn’t remember how to drive, much less get to their destination. Dad asked me, “Do you know how to get to the beach?” In my office clothes, I frantically called several friends asking if they could help out, to no avail. I shrugged and told them, “Screw it. I’ll call in sick and take you there!”

When we got there, they stripped to their board shorts prepping for cool waters, poking and laughing at each other like they must have done as little kids. Sitting down on a nearby bench, they smiled for me as I took their pictures on my phone, with mischievous smiles and shining youth.

Dad passed away before the turn of this new millennium. And Uncle Noel during the pandemic has progressed dementia. But in my dreams, they could not be more vivid, more alive, or more cherished.

What a welcome visit. What a radiant dream.