I hear my dad’s voice coming from the room with the hospital bed in it. Seems restless, agitated. I figure he needs help with going to the bathroom or something.

/Dad dreaming of having to hold something in each hand, and if he lets go of either, awful things will happen

I ask him what I can do and he tells me about the dream. I hold his hand for a moment and tell him he doesn’t have to keep holding on, it’s going to be all right.

Try to get some sleep, pop…

‘Wait, what about the other one?’ A bit confused, almost plaintive.

I hold that one too, so he can feel it’s empty. It unclenches too.

It’s all right pop, you can let go. It’s okay.

‘Oh, god. What a terrible experience.’

Sorry pop, it’s okay now. Everything’s fine. Love you. Sleep well.

I turn and start to walk out of the room.

’Hey, it’s Andrew! How did he get in here? You’re not supposed to be in here.’

Pretty sure he’s not talking just to me…

I’m just on the way out now, dad, try to get some rest. See you in the morning.

‘I love you, Andy.’

I love you too, pop.