Specks of Dust, Moving Away

I see my father standing in the bedroom, it is morning and we have awoken to a bright sunlit day. He leaves the room and I begin making the bed in the way my mother and I always did; tucking in all the corners very carefully and making sure everything is perfectly straight and layered for maximum effect. I am pure love, energy , and happiness; how glorious it is to be me, here, now! The room's windows are in the east, and the light slanting through the white lace curtains turns everything to soft gold, and sparkles of dust float around me. I reach out my hand, pushing and swirling the sparkles. A song comes on the radio which is playing in the bedroom, Born In The U.S.A., and my father comes in and starts singing it, turning the knob for the volume up until the sound fills the room, and it is such a wondrous moment in time, as though perfectly designed for us by the world. He looks at me, picks me up, and we stand together in the light of the sun. He says he is going into the army soon, and I don't quite understand. I do have a sense though, and I feel a sadness which doesn't lessen the wonder of the moment, but takes it to an higher, more complete level.