O for the touch of a vanished hand!

Last night I had a dream. Do you ever have those dreams that are so real you forget that they're dreams, even after you are awake? I mean, most of the time when I dream something is off, like one person is really two different people that I know, or the setting is bizarre, or I'm missing something like my clothes or my eyesight. Then every once in a while I have a dream that is totally real in every way. Such was my dream last night. I drempt that my father was in the hospital dying of a heart attack. It was all so real, my brother and mother were there, and we were of course all very upset. I awoke to the sound of the heart monitor flat-lining.
Needless to say even after I had been awake for hours I felt this pressing sadness in my heart. Today in class we studied Tennyson and his preoccupation (some would say obsession) with death and learning to deal with it. We talked about how the relationships we have in this life are really what is most precious to us, so even though we know we will see our loved ones again we still feel pain and loss at their passing. We talked about how some die young, with so much potential for life, while others live into their 90's with little difficulty. Some die with no family, others die with young children mourning their passing. What touched me the most, however, was the thought of my own parents' deaths.
Part of growing up is learning to cope with separation from family. You go to college, you move out, and if you're lucky you realize just how much you love those you left behind. Another part of growing up is realizing the passing of time--that as you grow older so do they. And inevitable to us all is the passing of those with whom we once enjoyed the pleasures of childhood. Dr. Walker expressed his feelings when his mother died. Although he was 60 at the time, the realization that he could no longer call her on the telephone and speak with her stabbed at his heart.
I am a daddy's girl. My daddy will always be my hero, a man I will always respect and love. He texted me the other day and told me the same--even when he is 78 and I am 50 I will still be his little girl. It is a role I wouldn't give up for the "wide wide world."
My mom will always be my best friend. She is the first person I talk to when I don't know what to do--her opinion is absolutely invaluable to me. In my mind she is the best woman--she is talented, charitable, perceptive, and insightful. I call her regularly, seeking counsel. When I am lonely or sad she is the first person I think about. The memories of her looks and her smell and the safety I felt when she hugged me in her arms always come back to give me comfort.
Heartbreaking will be the day when I can no longer see or feel them or even speak to them. I feel that I will not know loss until that day comes. Although I will always be their daughter, which knowledge comforts me, I will not be absolutely shielded from the pain of their passing.

Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

O, well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.
-Tennyson