It's 3:15 in the morning.
I awoke from a dream in which I saw my father again.
I was on my knees tending a garden at my grandmother's house. Except it wasn't his mom's house; it was my mom's mom's house. But my grandma (his mom) was inside. We were both waiting anxiously because we knew he was going to arrive. There was snow all around the exposed patch of earth that I was working.
Dad pulled into the driveway in his truck, the early-70s gold model. He glanced over at me and then stared at the steering wheel, obviously overcome with emotion.
I made my way to the car, feeling choked up, too, but also very excited and happy.
He got out of the truck. He acted a little slow and dazed, which seemed appropriate for a man who's been dead for 30 years. He looked good, though. Just like in the pictures.
Grandma rushed out of the house to greet him.
I can't remember what was said, or even if we embraced. I woke up before we could really get to talking.
It was a pleasant dream, if frustrating. It felt very real, but not real enough.