I dreamt of my father’s death last night

I am standing by his pale body on a white paper bed in the emergency room. In the room is my brother, two friends, Nathan, with various hospital staff.  His shoulder shifts.  Signs of life.

I start shouting orders, “Press on his chest” “Grab his feet and straighten his legs” I inhale, placing my small mouth over his lips gently pulling his head back. Breathing life into him. “Press!” I yell to my stronger counterpart.  I draw in another breath and exhale it into his mouth. “Press!”  Their strong hands clasp together and pound into his chest.  A woman holds his feet. I inhale. His lips are thin, almost paper-like with blood withdrawn. They need to be held to make sure I fit over his entire mouth. I do this three more times. Then it’s clear to stop.  We step back. I move around to the other side of the table and look at his still face. A few people leave the room.  Silence. His shoulder moves. His hand reaches to scratch his belly. Then his eyes open. I can tell he’s had some brain damage by the sound of his voice when he says, ‘Sweetheart & Ben’.

I wake up from this dream and retell it with tears.  I realize that it’s ‘okay, to bark orders in the service of love for a life or death situation.’ My father died four years ago of a heart attack. But someone, somewhere in the world today is in a life or death situation with their father because of war.  I’m awake with a new fervor for peace, for protecting the innocent, and saving lives-not only of the wounded, but the families that endure their loss.

“Any man's death diminishes me because I am involved in mankind; therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”  ~ John Donne