I am standing on the first tee of a beautiful golf course. The soft grey pre-dawn light mutes the colors, the ocean faintly visible in the distance. As I look down the fairway, Jake drives up behind me, alone in his cart. He stops alongside me with a smile and a “Hey, Pops.” He wears tan golf slacks and argyle socks, his grey Slazenger golf shirt and the beautiful sweater vest his grandmother knitted, against the chill of the morning air. His Kangol golf hat perches jauntily on his head.
I am delighted to see him. “Sit with me a bit,” as I beckon to a bench beside the Par-Aid ball washer. He shakes his head and replies, “I can’t stay that long”.
I lean on the cart, hands on the smooth plastic roof as we talk in the gathering brightness, the high clouds now tinged with the first pink blush of sunrise. We exchange small talk for a moment until I blurt out the questions that have haunted me every moment since his passing. He looks at me with the inscrutable Mona Lisa smile he wears in the last photo of him and me on the Pete Dye course, and says, “I can’t answer that, Dad. But your truth is as good as any.”
The sun peeks over the horizon spilling golden light onto the world. He checks his watch, “Gotta bounce”.
“Can’t you stay a little longer”, I ask. “We have so much to talk about”.
He shakes his head again, with a rueful smile. “I’d like to, but I gotta go.”
He fixes me in his clear thoughtful gaze and flashes that thousand-megawatt smile. The smile that lit up every room he walked into, the smile that illuminated his world.
“Don’t worry Dad, I’m okay now.”
“It’s all good.”
“So long, Pops, I’ll see you around.”
I straighten up as he kicks the cart into gear and heads down the path, clubs rattling as he bumps along. I watch as the cart dips into a little swale, and just like that, he is gone.
Oh my gosh that made me cry. You write so beautifully, and that was hauntingly sad and beautiful. I am so very sorry for the loss of your son. I have had dreams like this, I cherish them. I don’t know if you really had this experience in a dream or you were just writing something beautiful, but it does not matter….
It wasn’t a dream. More like a waking reverie. And I cried when I wrote it, and I cry every time I read it. A dear friend of mine suggested a meditation she used to get in touch with her lover after he passed away. Jake posted a photo a few months back of us on the golf course with the caption, “Real men see the sunrise”. She suggested a similar meditation based on meeting Jake on the golf course at sunrise. I have tried to connect with him thusly, but haven’t really been able to. I am not sure why his presence escapes me now. It doesn’t matter. He is with me every waking moment. It is odd, I have had only one dream with Jake present, last night. It is vague and unclear. I remember only a fragment, something to do with setting an alarm code on someone else’s apartment. I am waiting for this vision to manifest, so I can ask him those questions. I reach out to you in love and understanding. Thank you for your beautiful words and thoughts. Be well.