The Dreams Keep Coming

The dreams keep coming, night after night. They are wondrous, but  also worrisome. They are about family members, dead family members.

First, there was the startling but lovely vision in which my second oldest brother, the wandering, non-materialist, hippy-dippy brother is kneeling beside our mother in front of a massive China closet handing one tiny delicate object after another to her.

She, in turn, has a look of complete joy on her face quite unlike anything I had ever seen except when she was with my children who she worshipped with pure, unadulterated, uncritical love — a kind of love she offered to no one else.

The Dreams Keep Coming

In this dream, she is without physical pain which was especially wonderful to behold since in life she suffered from multiple failed back surgeries. Likewise, in this dream she is without the anger she suffered upon all of us for a host of real and imagined sins we did or did not commit.

I couldn’t make out what the delicate objects are my brother is handing her. I observed the scene from a distance. Yet, the objects, glass or porcelain, are obviously much loved. They seemed to have been once lost, now recovered. With each one, my mother turns in wonder and delight to show her mother, sister, and best friend all seated beside her.

In life, these women rarely sat together. They were too busy. Yet, here they were, united in happiness, released of tension, worry, duties, and their own aches, pains, and disappointments.

The four of them plus my brother appear so overwhelmingly joyous and simultaneously content that it took my breath away. My feelings at the sight equaled theirs. I woke up, scarcely able to breathe, so sublimely happy. It was an actual physical sensation.

Wonderous

I lay in bed, concentrating to hang on to each detail and sensation of the dream. Finally, the joy I felt could not be contained. I started crying and laughing and feeling quite foolish in a wonderful way.

I attributed no higher meaning to the dream. I am a person of facts, not faith. So, I did not see it as a vision, a message from God. I was simply grateful for having such a wonderful dream.

Then, a few nights later, I had a second family dream. This time my oldest brother came calling. The 12th yahrzeit (anniversary) of his passing had just occurred. So, it was not surprising he was on my mind.

Dream On

In the dream, I was listening to a souped-up version of “Sit Down, You’re Rocking the Boat” from Broadway’s Guys and Dolls, the song about going to Heaven. I was setting the table for a big family meal as the music blared in this revved-up, silly, rendition of the soup.

Suddenly my brother or more accurately a sort of comic version of him swooped in, clapping in an exaggerated manner. We were both bopping and laughing. Then, just as unexpectedly, my brother attempted a handstand to the music, failed, crashed into the couch, stood up, and without a word, danced and clapping and laughing his way away.

That was it. Nonsensical. Over in a flash. But for the dancing and the shared love of Broadway musicals, the uncoolness of the movements was not at all like my brother. Still, it was a momentary welcome connection with my favorite brother. I woke up happy and weirdly, out of breath, as if from the exertion of the music, the dancing, and clapping!

Three nights ago, I had a long, rambling dream set in a Las Vegas hotel at a business meeting of economic development and industry leaders. I know. I know “economic development” isn’t exactly what flashes in your mind when you think “Las Vegas,” but I was a reporter when Vegas was a smaller town, and all sorts of community meetings were held at hotels.

A Best Friend Appears

Anyway, the dream details elude me, but in the distance on a couch sat my best friend Shannon, who died four years ago. She sat there, adorned in a spikey hairstyle, smoking a joint! Both hair and pot are 175% out of character. Still, it was lovely to catch up for just a few moments before I had to get back to my reporting duties. By the way, Shannon, if you happen to read this, you look fantastic with spikey hair!

Two nights ago, my brother Mal made a return visit to my suddenly familial-filled Dreamscape. My husband and I were packing for a trip to visit Mal. I was on the phone going over the details of our arrival.

“Jacob isn’t coming?” Mal asked, disappointed that my youngest son, now a working adult, wasn’t traveling with us. “I want to talk to him.”

“No, Mal.”

“I really need to talk to him,” Mal pressed with some urgency.

That’s when I woke up. Why Mal wanted/needed to talk to my son wasn’t clear. They weren’t close, although my husband said that Mal always liked Jacob which I don’t specifically recall. It felt vaguely unsettling, but more than that, lovely and loving. Also, I heard my brother’s beautiful sonorous voice so distinctly, that it cheered my heart.

Who’s Next?

Disappointingly the only person who hasn’t made a guest appearance in my dreams so far is my father. I wish he would. I miss him. My father aka Big Julie as everybody called him died just before my 30th birthday — four decades ago. A visit from him especially amid this cluster of other somnolescent gatherings seems only appropriate.

As to the sudden occurrence and clustering of these familial dreams, I mostly ascribe no higher power, no deep meaning no hidden message.

Or at least the rational me thinks that way.

The scaredy-cat me does occasionally worry. What if I’m dying?

I’ve heard/read that before people die, they “see” their deceased loved ones. My mother certainly did in the hours before she died. My father, her brother who had been killed at Iwo Jima … She recounted vivid  “in the moment” conversations” with them to me at the end.

What’s Next?

Now, I know I’m not hours away from death, but in some unexplained way, are my gone-to-the-Great-Beyond relatives giving me a heads-up to get my metaphysical and actual house in order because I’ll be joining them in 2025?

I recognize this sounds silly, but in the moments when I take my heart medication it doesn’t “feel” completely irrational.

Mostly though, I remain sane and sensible.

Instead of feeling spooked, I’m grateful for these nocturnal, nostalgic glimpses of family. I marvel at the mind’s ability to “see” what one longs to see, in my case, scenes of my relatives pain- and tension-free, united and smiling, lingering over music and cherished possessions. I likewise marvel at the mind’s ability to “hear” so clearly their beautiful voices, as clear and perfect as if in person.

Memory can be a curse or a blessing. For me, these dreams are a gift. I hope they continue. Now, when I go to bed, I do so, not with exhaustion, but in great expectation, wondering and hoping about who might drop in.