Not Too Long Didn't Read

I dreamed about my dad last night. I found myself standing in a house in among some huge mountains with a spectacular view across a valley of pristine mountain views. There was no signs of other human occupation. Just nature. As I stood looking up through the storefront sized windows of this home, I took in the snow on the mountains, I watched clouds rolling down the slopes into verdant valleys, a mixture of different hues of green, while animals flocked about in the ways that they do, among outcroppings of grey granite boulders. Valleys where I knew there would also be streams and rivers full of many great strong fish waiting for a good fight with an old man who loves them so much that he always lets them go after a good contest.

I didn’t see the lakes in my dream, but I imagine there were also mountain lakes were a person could go fly fishing. Deep waters where the cold water runs and even bigger fish lurk, until one day when that old man comes and drops a nymph down to tease them out of their slumbering ways.

In the dream I was back in the house, lugging around AV equipment, as I was likely to do many times during the years I was working working for my father. I arrived early, and was preparing to store this equipment in a room in the house.

Then Bill Carpenter walked in, big as life, and as real to me in this dream as he was when last I saw him. He was carrying a large catalog case full of notebooks and legal pads, with yellow markers and black gel pens spilling out onto the floor as he put the case down. He also came in early, and I discovered then that this room was the office that he had chosen for himself, because it had the views of the mountains that he liked best.

He walked over to a wall and I realized there was an enormous shallow stained wood cabinet mounted on the wall. And when he opened it up there was a huge touch screen monitor, probably at least a 96 in wide. He turned it on and leaned forward to authenticate with some kind of an eye retina security. I saw complicated designs flash by during the boot up screen. It was really fancy, and he looked at it with some pride before he started to press his fingers all over it writing down his ideas as lists, and drawing out various concepts.

As is the way with dreams, we didn’t get to actually speak, but he turned to look at me and smiled at me in a way that I remember. In this way, he let me know that he loves me.

Not long after this happened the rest of his staff started to arrive. Lugging in boxes of case materials with a pre-trial fervor. A large work table and chairs mystically appeared and they set all the boxes down. His energy was joyful and intense as he started to paw through the boxes and spread out the notebooks to plan his arguments.

I remember thinking, I didn’t know we were all going to work on a Saturday. And the staff smiled and looked at me in a way that let me know without words that it was something he decided at the last minute on Friday and told everybody not long before they walked out the door the night before. Thus was the nature of trial mode, and thus too was the loyalty of those close to him to adapt to the moment and press on for the good of the client.

The day woke me in the real world. I tried to roll over and continue this beautiful dream. Alas, it faded and I began my day.

When my father died I remember thinking that if there were a heaven he would continue to do the things he loved most, which were practicing law, fly fishing, and loving his family. When I was writing his eulogy, I had a day dream of a house on a hill in the mountains where he might want to be. So I imagine the house in this dream may be that place.

Any of you who read this who knew him will perhaps recognize some of the behaviors. So when you close your eyes and think of Bill, think of your boss, your colleague, your friend, your brother, your dad, your husband, your Papa… Maybe you too can imagine him expressing great joy coming off an early morning fishing trip and preparing to go seek justice for some poor soul who got wronged by the powers that be. And then maybe afterwards go to watch one of his grandchildren participate in some event.

And later, maybe we will see the table laid out for all the people he loves to come together, share a meal, and discuss many things. It is a very big table.

We all miss you Bill Carpenter.