The Dream Queen

The dreams. Oh, the many, many dreams.

I have always remembered my dreams. Since I was a child, I have been writing them down in a dream journal.

First there were the before dreams.

Three times each.

Three times, three different dreams I dreamt Rob died. That same year, three different dreams, three times I dreamt my grandma died.

I dreamt I died too that year. Three separate times.

What I did not know then was that dreaming of myself dying likely meant pieces of me. Some aspect of myself. Some undetected way of being. Some belief about life or myself that would soon disappear, dissolve away into the abyss.

What I did not know then was that the dreams of Rob and my grandma dying would come true. Premonition dreams. My psyche warning me of what was to come. Preparing me to shatter. Preparing me to lose pieces of myself. To permanently change my view of the world, of life.

One year after those dreams they would come true. Not the way in which they happened, but the outcome. The outcome my conscious brain could not fathom. The impending deaths.

Just one short year later March 2000, Rob would suddenly die. A car accident in the early morning on Lake Shore drive. The S curve. He, the passenger, would be thrown from the car. Dying instantly, my baby picture kept in his wallet disappearing in the wind.

Then October came.

Six months later, October 2000. My grandma would have a brain aneurysm, middle cerebral artery. A momentary coma, and death later that day.

Those were the before dreams.

Then there were and still are the after dreams.

First to come would be the dreams that were working through my feelings. Sorting out and processing what my brain resisted.

Then, later, came the “visitation” dreams. These felt different. No longer just a dream sorting through the details of my grief.

The intensity was stronger. The imagery significantly more vivid.

For me, there’s often unspoken communication, almost telepathic.

For me, there is often a hug.

A hug I can feel, I can see their birthmarks, tattoos, or freckles. I can smell them.

In these dreams, I do not think that they are there, I know they are. It is without question. The feeling intensely real. Feeling that they were there, knowing that they were. Starkly different than the earlier dreams with them. So powerful, all of them, so real.

My own tears drenching my face would wake me. I would cry when they would leave.

Waking up again to unrelenting grief.

Oh, how I wanted to just stay there. Stay sleeping, stay in those fleeting dreams. Stay with them. Their presence, their energy. I wanted those dreams to last forever.

Bonds too strong to be broken by death.

They were gone, but we were together.

As always, I would love your feedback, comments, stories.

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