I had a very vivid and powerful dream about my dad two nights ago. When I woke up, I saw a book on a friend's table, and when I flicked through its pages, I came upon this passage from a poem by the German poet, Rainer Maria Rilke:
Sometimes a man stands up during supper
and walks outdoors, and keeps on walking,
because of a church that stands somewhere in the East.
And his children say blessings on him as if he were dead.
And another man, who remains inside his own house,
dies there, inside the dishes and in the glasses,
so that his children have to go far out into the world
toward that same church, which he forgot.