Dreams of the Dead

It’s five in the morning as I write this, and my thoughts are as chaotic and disjointed as the words on the page.

I think someone is going to die soon.

Someone I love.

Have you ever had a dream that foreshadowed a death before, or even a birth?

I have. I hate the death ones.

Last night, I dreamed about my mother. She has been gone for years now.

We lost her in two thousand and eleven. God, that was a hard time.

I was over four thousand miles away from her, in another country, and all I could do was lock down my emotions and remotely plan everything, all while keeping it together in front of my children.

It was hard.

And I failed a few times.

Last night, I dreamed she died again. But it was strange; all the players but one were already dead.

My grandma, my dad, my mom, my brother, and my best friend from school were there. All of them are now gone.

The only other person besides myself in the dream was an elderly relative. They are the only other people involved who still walk in this world.

I don’t want to name them, in case it lends weight to the dream.

No, I don’t actually believe that they will die because of a random dream I had, but I also understand that my subconscious sees a lot more than I do.

It sees more and puts together puzzle pieces I can’t perceive in my waking mind.

It doesn’t help that my mortality has become a vivid reality this past year.

Bad health and age catch up to us all.

One aspect of my dream upsets me.

I wasn’t there when Mama died.

Again.

In my dream, I left with Amanda, my friend, on a train to Miami. We were going to meet up with my brother and dad, who had gone the day before. Once again, they are both gone.

In that way that dreams are strange, we did not have a hotel booked. It wasn’t until we were on our way that I realised we had not made reservations.

I was frantically trying to sort something out when I got the call.

Like what happened in reality, I dropped everything, paused life, and ran home. In the dream, it was as simple as running through the carriages of the train until I reached the end.

I never saw Mama again, even though I had seen her earlier in the dream.

I asked my grandmother what had happened.

She told me she had lain down on the couch and gone to sleep.

It was so surreal, even in a dream.

Suddenly, I couldn’t remember the last time I saw her, what we said to each other, or if I had hugged her.

Grandma assured me I had seen her yesterday and that we had spoken, but it was gone from my memory.

I woke up frantic and upset, the dream a breathing reminder of how brief life really is, and how it can slip away in the blink of an eye.

Was it convoluted and strange?

Yes.

Was it the first dream like this I had ever had?

No.

Will it be the last?

Unlikely.

Often, I worry about my own children having to go through this. They are lucky; in their young lives, such grief has not touched them.

But I know it’s only a matter of time.