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From Opening Heaven’s Door – Patricia Pearson

A musician, Rory McGill, sent me the following letter:

The night my Dad died, I dreamed about him passing.   I had last seen him three weeks prior. He had suffered something like a stroke. He was unable to speak or otherwise communicate, apart from some signs of recognition in his eyes, and the touch of his right hand. He was also completely naked, lying under a sheet, for his own comfort, and his scalp was shaved clean on one side for medical purposes. So, he had a striking new look, which remains vivid in my mind's eye today.

When I left to return to university the doctor's prognosis was for a fairly good recovery. Three weeks later, I dreamed of my father. He was lying on a hospital bed, on top of the sheets, and he was wearing beautiful new yellow pajamas. Rich yellow, like the colour of zucchini flowers. And he had a full head of hair. I was delighted.

I climbed onto the bed and held him in my arms, but in an instant I was standing alone in the room, he was gone, and the bed was now empty- and neatly made, set in a different corner. The beautiful new yellow-pajamas were folded on the pillow.

l woke up perplexed by the dream but, strange to say now, I couldn't make much of it. It didn't trouble me much, oddly, but stayed in my head and coloured my day somewhat.  When I returned to the rooming house in the late afternoon, I found a handwritten note pinned to the front door. It said, RORY CALL YOUR MOTHER.

l went immediately back down the street to the nearest phone booth with my heart speeding and my throat beginning to close. I dialled my mum's phone number and my head started to spin. I had no conscious idea of what would come next as the phone rang, but then the instant she picked up at the other end, I started to sob and I just knew.  My dad had died while I slept and dreamed of one last visit.