I had a dream last night. I called home to speak to Mom, and we chatted for a good long while. In her benedictory way, she told me she loved me and she would always be praying for me, and then she asked "Do you want to speak to your father?" "Of course!" I replied, excitedly. Upon hearing my own voice, I realized it was much higher in pitch; the voice of a child. With a smile, she whispered "I'll go get him for you."
Then she called his name, the same way she always did; the way she'd call him to the front door when the guests arrived, or to the dinner table, or to announce her arrival home from church or from work. I could practically hear the sound bouncing from the walls. "Mike...Mike....Miiiiike..." she bellowed. She must have called out to him a dozen times.
All the while -- I waited and I waited -- he never came to the phone.
I just remember thinking to myself "I hope he's okay. I hope he's okay. I hope he's okay."