I dreamt of my mother’s death before it happened. Before we knew she was sick.

At first my dream was a fog of nothingness. Then I looked to the side to see my mother perched on a large boulder. She wore a translucent flowing gown – a soft blue-green. A simple strand of pearls hung around her neck.

Immediately she spoke of her death.

“Here’s what I need you to do.” She was a southern lady who cared about etiquette and valued subdued good taste. Since she was responsible for family entertaining, she didn’t trust my father to attend to the details.

“I’ll do exactly what you ask,” I told her. “But here’s what I need from you: you can’t die when I’m in the Philippines. You have to die before or after, not while I’m there.” (I had spent months planning for the trip.)

Her dream-self agreed.

Three months later, she went in for a routine test. They added a chest x-ray just for the heck of it and found she had lung cancer. An inoperable tumor the size of an orange.

I started calling her every day. Three weeks from diagnosis, she laid down for an afternoon nap and had a massive heart attack. That morning — a Sunday — I had called.

“I just want to tell you I love you.”

Her response: “I love you too. Always remember that.”

My mother and I had a strained relationship. I never felt like I met her expectations. Not pretty enough. Not smart enough. Not thin enough. Not popular enough. But all the resentment and hurt lifted with her diagnosis. I treasure those 21 daily check-ins. Pure grace.

Some dreams bring a bumpier ride. Just last night I dreamt of being in my old beater Volvo with my brother, father and stepmother. Dad was driving, brother riding shot gun. In my dream I’d seen a photo of the three of them along with two old family friends – a mother and daughter – all dressed for a formal affair. The women all wore tiaras. “Why didn’t I know about this?” I asked. My father got very irritated with me.

I reached for the door handle to get out but paused. “I just want to know why I was not included.”

No response from the front seats. My stepmother took pity and turned to me. “It’s because of…” Then her voice became unintelligible.

I felt tearful when I awakened. Then curiosity took over. I believe that in the dream space my subconscious mind works things out on my behalf while I’m sleeping.

In my reflecting, I consider the Jungian concept that we are every character in our dreams.

What part of me continues to hold on to old regrets? Old expectations?

Where might I be excluding myself from some aspect of life where my heart longs to engage?

Rather than resist what is coming up, I consider this: Am I holding onto something so that I might complete it, before moving on?

As my 12-step friends are fond of saying: More will be revealed.

(My sweet son doing his own dream work.)

The only thing that disturbed me about the dream of my mother was awakening and feeling guilty for imagining her death before there was any hint it might be imminent. The relative gentleness and ease of that dream foretold the healing and letting go that would occur in me in the coming weeks.

When Mom died (eight days before my Philippines trip), I flew to Florida from California where I lived and worked. I picked out her burial clothes. Her favorite blue-green chiffon dress (like the one in the dream only less flowy). A strand of pearls and the gold filigree cross I’d picked out for her birthday 20 years earlier.

Her Celebration of Life was just as she would have it. Her life was not easy. She had struggled with alcoholism and the challenges of being a woman of a certain age in the South. She died the day before her treatment was to begin. With that heart attack, it felt like she’d taken charge of her life. Like she’d set herself free.

*****

Do you pay attention to your dreams? If you don’t remember them, try giving yourself the suggestion that you want to. Write down whatever comes. Whatever you can recall. These strange mysterious dreams are gifts. In time they can lead to transformation and bring peace.

This fall, I’ll be gathering a small group of dreamers to do this work together. Message me if you’d like to receive more information in the coming months.