I wish I understood dreams better. They can be simultaneously maddening and obscure…yet comforting. I had one of those experiences last night. My father’s sister – my Aunt Betty – came through loud and clear with a message. The imagery was hazy – just my subconscious recalling this photo, I suppose, taken in her prime when she was 20, I think.
This was her message – coming through on the eve of the 51st anniversary of her death. I jotted the nuggets down hurriedly in my trusty teensy bedside notebook, while still rousing myself awake:
You were so young when I died. It was 51 years ago today. Incredible. July 22, 1971. I know it’s hard to understand. I changed that day, but I’m always close. Just remember me. Close your eyes and I’m near.
- I know you wonder about your dad. He’s here. He knows you see him in the clouds and stars. You’re right – he IS the whisper you feel when a breeze kisses your face.
- We’re okay. It’s not what you think – we’re energy in free form. We float and gravitate away from and toward one another.
- Your mom is here, too, but she’s childlike. Your Dad acknowledges her but keeps his distance. What happened to her?
And that was it! I woke up and had the feeling of jet lag. Restless sleep and not enough of it. Foggy. Headachy.
Do I think about my long-departed father A LOT? Yes. Every day and I do sense him when I look up – toward cloud formations, especially, and I imagine he’s near in the soft breezes.
And – the message about my mom: She’s here, too, but she’s childlike was poignant and painful. Mom suffered from Alzheimer’s and became increasingly incapacitated on her quick descent toward death. Aunt Betty’s query – ‘What happened to her?’ was hard to hear, yet so loud in my early morning recall of the dream. I understood. Aunt Betty didn’t recognize her, and we scarcely did – especially toward the end.
Gratitude this morning for messages. Whether it’s a channeling of dear Aunt Betty on the anniversary of her death or my active dream state working out conundrums and emotions, I’m in a mood to receive.