I had a dream the other night that my dad, who died in 2000, was slicing watermelon, singing “Heaven, I’m in heaven …” Dad loved watermelon and fires. We had two fireplaces in our house growing up, and when they retired to the lake, Dad would start a fire most days between October and April, sitting down cross-legged in front of fireplace, crumbling up newspaper, laying a grid of kindling and placing a couple logs on top. In another part of the dream, I went into a room behind my dad’s fireplace, where there were two more wood-burning furnaces with fires blazing. Hell imagery, heaven lyrics.
Then yesterday, Viv was talking about this young firefighter from Garrison who died from a brain tumor, and I was thinking about this song I sang at my Aunt Rae’s funeral, “Go Rest High on that Mountain.”
A few minutes later, I got in my car to drive home, and through the crackles of the AM sports talk station I was listening to, I could hear a song playing on another station: “Go rest high on that mountain, because your work on earth is done. Go to heaven a’shoutin’, love for the father and the son.”
I hadn’t thought about or heard that song in years.
I still remember once when I was in high school, and at church one morning, I was thinking about the song, “Till the rivers all run dry,” a Don Williams oldie I knew from a Pete Townshend and Ronnie Lane album. I went out to the car and turned on the radio, and that song started playing — the Don Williams version, which I had only heard on TV commercials.