Protected place

I was going to try and not crash in to this blog; Like, a bull into a fine China shop....But, it is who I am. It is what I do. My dad died last month, It's been a tough road to travel without him. Not to mention the lame, sad state of the world and it's economy as it is? I dreamed about my dad the other day. A few nights ago, I dream I am in a room...there is a wake, or service or something...There are a lot of other folks around, It is dark-ish gray like. There on one wall are the ashes for a person, For whom the wake is. Although there are a lot of people, I don't really know them. I must not, 'Cuz I'm generally surrounded with folks. There is a couch, and my dad is sitting on it. I see him, from across the room. I'm wearing a black skirt, high heeled shoes, a black suit jacket...But, more than those mundane details I'm overjoyed in my dream to see my dad.
As if, in my dreams I also know, he is dead. When dreams are a protected place.
I run to him, sitting on the couch in the middle. He is dressed nice, in a suit and tie. I kneel down to take his hand into mine. He falls over. His body falls over. He is dead. I am asking him, over and over "Dad are you okay? Dad?" I touch his face....He's gone.

It is an odd dream, as my dad didn't ever wear a suit. He'd dress up in nice drawers, and a nice shirt. But, because he has been among us Native American peoples for so long; He, loved-treasured and was very proud of his Bolo ties.
Since, I've been at my home in NE Portland Oregon I've been working the end of my course assignments and the beginning to the middle. I am overwhelmed with the life I've chosen. I chose it because I think I dreamed it.