Dream memories were no different than regular memories; the older you got, the foggier your younger recollections became. I was grateful for that. The haze was like antiseptic on a wound, numbing the pain a bit and keeping it from poisoning you.
Like every evening, my ghostly mind visited the past. Tonight my sleeping consciousness grasped at my earliest memories of childhood, but settings were a blur and people were shadows.
From the vantage point of a crib I saw two silhouettes looking down at me. A flash consumed my view and then I was a toddler, looking up at someone holding my hand. The sun in the background ringed the man’s head. He smiled at me. I think he had blue eyes like mine, and dimples. Exact details past that were difficult to make out, but the warmth I felt in his hand an
