A painting, a dream, and a message: everything is as it seems.
A friend of my sister’s — a college professor — once told me, “Your father knows more about American history than most history professors I know.” It was quite a compliment, especially considering that Dad was a mechanic. My parents were voracious readers. Mom loved novels and was also a talented watercolor artist. Dad devoured books about World War II, World War I, and the American Civil War. His shelves were lined with illustrated bird books — a reflection of his love for birdwatching.
After their passing, my siblings and I found about a dozen pairs of Dad’s binoculars tucked away throughout their house. Mom passed away in September 2006. Dad left us in May 2009. Being without a mother and a father at any age is an empty feeling, at best. At the time, I worked in the college’s IT department.
Weeks after Dad’s funeral, a dream came to me. I walked into the Registrar’s office at work. Behind the counter, wearing a hospital gown, stood my father. We were alone in the large, silent room. He noticed me immediately. I stared at him, stunned, trying to understand how he could still be alive. Dad leaned forward across the counter, looked me straight in the eye, and said, clear as day: “Everything is as it seems. All rumors are true.”
As he spoke, a brick wall rose from the floor behind him, reaching to the ceiling.
Immediately, I woke up — flooded with sadness that he was still gone, and haunted by the strange words he had spoken.
Later that day at work, I told a friend about the dream. As I spoke, he quickly typed Dad’s words into Google. At the very top of the search results, an image appeared:
a watercolor painting of birds in a tree — hauntingly similar to my mother’s style.
Beneath the tree were the words: Everything is as it seems. A chill ran down my spine.
Goosebumps covered my arms.
When I got home, I tried to find the image again but couldn’t locate it.
The next day at work, my friend and I searched again — and again, nothing.
It had vanished. Despite the mystery, I took comfort in believing it was a message:
a sign that Mom and Dad were together and at peace.
In the end, I’m grateful that Dad visited me in my dream, and that his message — however ephemeral — remains with me. Though, to be honest, I often wish he had included the winning Lotto numbers too.
The End
Thank you for taking the time to read my story. If it touched you, inspired you, or made you reflect, I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments. Your time and presence here mean more than you know. — Michael J. Kannengieser
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The Art of God: After losing his wife in a tragic accident, Alan Vaughn awakens from a coma with a divine calling to create a masterpiece — but as pain, doubt, and outside pressures threaten to consume him, he must embark on a journey to rediscover his shattered faith.
The Heart of Velletri: Haunted by the secrets of his father's wartime past and his family's criminal legacy, police officer Michael Koenigsmann embarks on a journey to uncover the truth behind his father's survival in World War II — and ultimately finds healing, forgiveness, and redemption across generations.
Michael J. Kannengieser is a retired New York City police officer and the author of The Heart of Velletri, The Art of God, Burning Blue, and other works of fiction. His stories explore themes of redemption, faith, and the enduring power of human connection. He lives on Long Island with his family, where he continues to write heartfelt fiction that inspires and uplifts readers.
