On the Friday evening that my Dad passed away I didn't want to leave my Mother alone so I decided to go ahead and spend the night at their house. She has a futon couch in her little den room that is just a cut above sleeping on the floor! I don't know how manufacturers expect anyone to get a good nights sleep on those things but it was either sleep on it, the floor, or a small love seat that Mom has in her living room.
I figured that I wasn't going to sleep much anyway, so I might as well be wrestling for sleep on the futon.
The next day, my sister arrived late in the evening from Utah. We were all so tired just from mourning and decided to try to get some rest. Somehow, without any discussion, my sister Chris got the futon and I ended up on the tiny love seat in the living room. I probably could have opted for Dad's recliner but I just couldn't bring myself to sit in my Dad's preferred seat yet; him only being gone for one night. I sleep most comfortably curled up in a ball anyway so I didn't think a whole lot about not being able to stretch out. I was exhausted and just needed a place to rest. Their little patio home has a nice size living room but the space doubles as a dining room too. My mother is a woman who doesn't really like parting with her things so the room is lined with furniture. In addition to the love seat there is: a lovely secretary desk, an entertainment center with a TV in it and a mantel clock up on top, a buffet table my Dad made that is covered with pictures, a dining room table with 6 chairs, a set of wooden snack tables, an antique china cupboard and a round table with a lamp on it in the corner, a winged back chair with an end table beside it, Dad's recliner and a glider rocker that Mom usually sits in with a foot stool in front of it. Between Dad's recliner and Mom's chair stands a beautiful handmade Grandfather clock that my Dad made for my Mom. I wondered as I crawled up on the love seat if I would be able to sleep in a room with two clocks ticking, one that chimes every fifteen minutes and dongs for every hour that passes.
I had no trouble falling fast asleep and it wasn't long until I found myself having the strangest dream.
I saw my Dad vividly, walking up the driveway behind the lake house. He looked tired and it seemed to show a bit on his face. As he approached the side door to the garage he turned left, opened the door and stepped in to the garage. He walked over to his workbench and turned to face it, suddenly he cried out and his hands went up, one crossing over the other as he grasped his chest. He took one step left and then fell back on the concrete floor. He hit his head on a stack of wood by the workbench; he was already gone when he hit the floor. It was as if I was there, a silent observer to how my Dad passed away. The most peculiar thing was that as I saw Dad walking up the driveway I heard the sound of the Grandfather clock ticking increasingly louder and louder and louder until at the very moment in the dream that Dad fell dead on the floor it was so loud that it woke me up. Startled, I then listened intently to see just how loud the clock was ticking. It was a soft, quiet, soothing sound. There was little doubt in my mind that God had just given me an explanation, a brief glimpse of how it all happened.