I used to not care for dreams. I used to think they got in the way of my slumber, that they distracted me from getting a full eight hours. I used to think that, and then my dad died.
When my mom’s dad died, they spread his ashes at Twin Lakes, now every time she goes there he visits her in her dreams. When my dad died, all I wanted was to see him again. Smell him. Feel his big arms wrapped all around me, his youngest. And I did…I dreamt of him and all I was trying to do was save his life as he was dying in front of me. But he visited me, and I loved it. But what did that mean? I wish I understood the coding of dreams because all I know is that I was saving him in reality and saving him in my dream.
It wasn’t until my sister dreamt of him being happy and healthy that I envied her and the fact that my dream wasn’t nearly as uplifting.
I used to not care for my dreams. I used to think they were all a waste of time, and now, I go to bed every night wishing that I could produce a dream and my dad will visit me and give me closure after every day that I desperately need.