I'll See You in my Dreams

When someone we love dies, dreams can take on an entirely different meaning. Dreams can become one of the few places where the person we miss is still able to walk through a doorway that feels very real.  And when we wake up, for just a moment, we may forget that they are gone.

For me, dreams of my mom are something I both hope for and worry about. I want to see her. I want to hear her voice and look into her eyes and experience, even for a few minutes, the comfort of having my mom back. But I also know that not every dream feels like a gift. Sometimes the dream makes me ache because waking up means losing her all over again.

Perhaps that is one of the cruelest and also most beautiful things about grief: sometimes we get to have them back,,,even for a little while.

Recently, my dad shared a dream with me that I haven't been able to stop thinking about. He told me that in his dream he met a “magic man” who offered him a special liquid. He mixed the liquid with my mom's cremains, and somehow, magically, it brought her back to life.

Now, there are a lot of ways a dream like that could be interpreted, but I don't think my dad needed an interpretation. He needed someone to understand what was underneath it. So I asked him, “How did you feel when you woke up?”

His answer was simple (as they almost always are),  “I just wish it was real.” Yes, of course, we all wish it was real.

Sometimes the dream is incredibly ordinary. We may be sitting at the kitchen table with our mom, talking about nothing particularly important. We may be walking beside our spouse, hearing their familiar laugh. We may see our child running toward us. We may find ourselves back in a familiar house, at a family gathering, or in a place that belongs to another season of our lives.

Sometimes a dream leaves us comforted. Sometimes it leaves us devastated. Sometimes it makes us laugh, and sometimes it makes us cry before our feet even hit the floor upon rising. Sometimes we remember every detail, and sometimes the person we love is simply a feeling in the dream — a sense that they were there, even though we can't quite remember what happened.

And sometimes we don't dream about them at all, and that can certainly be painful too.

For people of faith, dreams can raise even deeper questions. Was that really my loved one? Was God giving me a glimpse of heaven? Was it simply my grieving brain trying to process the enormous absence in my life? I don't think we always have to know the answer. Maybe there is room for mystery.

Perhaps we don't have to decide exactly what a dream means in order to receive what it gives us. If a dream brings comfort, receive the comfort. If it brings tears, let the tears come. If it leaves you longing, acknowledge the longing. If you wake up angry because the dream wasn't real, remind yourself that it is normal to feel angry sometimes.

And if you don't dream about your loved one at all, please don't wonder whether that means you loved them less or that they are somehow farther away. Grief does not follow a schedule, and neither do dreams.

My dad's dream didn't bring my mom back. He woke up, and she was still gone. But for a little while, his heart was allowed to imagine that she wasn't. And maybe that's why his words have stayed with me.

“I just wish it was real.” I understand that wish...

I have it too.