I have seen some things this week. If you read my previous post about my dad, you know that we have been through an ordeal with his health. Tonight he is at peace. He was resting comfortably when I left him, and in the gentle care of his Hospice help, I believe he is on the runway awaiting takeoff.

I have suffered all the emotions that can be named and many that cannot — sometimes all at the same time. Today is Monday. Officially one week since he was admitted. This story begins on Saturday.

I don’t know what the afterlife is. I don’t know if ghosts are real or what really happens when you die. I do know the universe is full of mysteries and that prayers are answered, though not always in the ways you expect. I don’t know what really happens when you die. So I don’t know if what I’m about to tell you is real or if in my desperation and exhaustion I manifested them in my imagination. I have a big one and am often told that what I think is real wasn’t. But I digress.

I spent the night on Saturday with my dad. I wasn’t going to, but something made me get dressed and go to the hospital. Although we were alone, I kept waking with the sensation that there were others in the room with us. Several times I would feel something brush past me — like a spider web or that little shock you get when you shuffle sock feet on carpet. At one point I felt a hand brush the hair across my forehead. When I sat up to look, no one was there. Several times throughout the night I woke to hear my dad talking to someone, but when I got to his bedside, his eyes were focused far away. The energy in the room felt vibraty. Charged.

During one of her visits, my dad asked my daughter where her mother was, and where her mother’s mother was. And then he introduced her to his mother who he said was standing in the corner.

On Sunday there were a few moments when it seemed like my dad was going. Once I was overcome with the smell of pipe tobacco (my gramps smoked a pipe) though no one else said they could smell anything. Later I smelled oranges or orange blossoms. Again, no one else smelled it. So maybe in my grief I was desperate for something to comfort me or wanted so badly to believe he was going to finally have peace, or maybe I was delusional from fatigue. But then the truck showed up.

My dad had a toy Dodge Dakota pickup truck that sat next to his chair at home with candy in it. Whenever my parents would babysit, he would drive the truck back and forth with Jocelyn and they ate candy bars together. It was their little private thing. A few months ago Jocelyn (my daughter) asked if she could have the truck, but my mom told her it was lost. She had looked everywhere, but it had been lost for years. My dad got a new chair for Christmas and we are all certain that the truck was NOT on the shelf by his chair. It was gone.

This morning (Monday), I went to my mom’s house early to let the dog out and feed her breakfast. I took some time to walk around and remember my dad. I laid on his bed, cried a bit, looked in his closet and smelled his clothes, peeked in the dog biscuit drawer to see if Millie still had snacks. Then I went into the sunroom to sit in his chair.

Guess what was sitting on the shelf? The candy truck.

My dad is at peace. And so am I.