I dreamed I was in my parents’ kitchen, with both of them.

I was hugging my mom. And gave her a kiss. She said, “Don’t forget about your dad. I then gave him a big hug and a kiss too. He didn’t say anything but just hugged me tightly, folding me into his long, loving arms, while I enjoyed the embrace as I had so often when they were alive.

 When I awoke, I had tears in my eyes. 

I laid there a bit longer, then got up and made a cup of coffee and sat in my moms’ chair, quietly watching the sun melt the frost outside and in. When Kirk got up, I told him of my dream and my now desire to scatter my moms’ ashes that day, instead of our plan of today, her birthday. A spring snowstorm was headed our way, and I didn’t want to deal with that on top of everything else too. He was easily swayed from his plan to go fishing, and when I looked at my calendar to see what I might need to cancel that day; I was amazed to see it was St. Patrick’s Day. My mom was Irish. Wow. It felt even more right.

I found out on our way to the mountains, that one of my favorite dogs of all times died unexpectedly the afternoon before. I felt like I was going on a quest to say goodbye to Chili as well. I know if it’s possible, that my mom will welcome her with open arms if and when they cross paths.

On the drive, there was an amazing fog bank covering the horizon. The hoarfrost on the trees had turned the needled from green to white. And, on our hike, the sun came out, melting only half the tree. As it continued to melt, it sounded like rain. The smell of spring was surrounding us as we tromped through the snow to our favorite spot.

Laying on a rock in the sun… looking at a dead tree covered in lichen… There is life in death. And, when I pulled out my phone to take these pictures, the time was 11:11. My dads’ favorite time.