Did you sing the Fleetwood Mac song when you saw the title? It’s one of my favorites. For those of you who are “of a certain age,” you may be interested to hear that Stevie Nicks just turned 77. Yes, you read that right.
I’m not going to talk about the song but instead discuss what happens when we sleep. Specifically, when we dream about our lost loved ones. My mom passed away in 1995. We were very close. After she died, I dreamed about her a lot. It was great comfort because I missed her so much. But in my dreams, she was alive, and it was as if she had never gone. I remember waking up and feeling happy and then immediately miserable, once reality set in.
I wondered about that, in terms of what my subconscious was trying to process. Was I feeling guilty about something unresolved? Was I trying to tell her something left unsaid? Neither of those things was very likely. She had pancreatic cancer, and we knew she was dying. In the months leading up to her final diagnosis, I did everything I could to make certain bucket list items come true: a hot air balloon ride, having her drive a Corvette from the dealership to the Wang Center, where we had tickets to see Phantom of the Opera (hey, it was 1994), and so forth. The night she died, I had just flown to Florida based on a summons from my dad and held her hand while I told her it was time to let go. So why did I constantly dream about her?
I’m chalking it up to my intense wish to see her again, simple as that. I’m not a very religious person, but I neither believe nor disbelieve in ghosts or life after death. Perhaps she was visiting me to tell me everything would be alright, and she was at peace? I think that’s the most comforting thought, if it’s true. I don’t dream about her very much now, but it does still happen occasionally, and enough years have passed so that I wake up smiling, happy to see her.
After I lost my husband, Tony, I also dreamed about him quite a lot, and still do. It stands to reason, given he was my person. However, unlike my mother, I always know in my dreams that he is dead. These dreams vary in their plots (oh yes, I forgot to mention that my dreams have plots, often quite complicated, like a spy novel – I swear!). I remember one in particular where my dog recognized him before I did. Tony was bald with a goatee, and he shaved his head where the hair grew around the sides. In my dream, he had let the hair and beard grow so that he looked like a member of ZZ Top. He told me he had faked his death so I could get the insurance money. In true fashion, I yelled at him for making me party to insurance fraud.
I’m glad that I know in my dreams he is gone, so that I don’t wake up sadder. But it leaves me wanting more, and I almost want to go back to sleep to pick up where the dream left off. Even after two years, I’m still processing my grief, and apparently this is one of the ways in which my heart deals with the loss.
My friends have asked me if I get messages or signs from him (or Mom) during waking hours. I haven’t yet gotten any from Tony, although maybe I just wasn’t paying attention. But I did from Mom. Some backstory: Her name was Elaine, and she wore Shalimar perfume exclusively. I still associate that smell with her. She also loved horse racing (as did Tony) and would only bet on a horse to come in second (to “Place”). That way she won even if it came in First. One day, Tony was betting horses, and I was in the basement doing laundry. I got a very clear whiff of her perfume, for no apparent reason, since I don’t wear it, and I own nothing with that scent. Just then, Tony came to the basement steps and told me he won on a horse he bet to Place. Its name? Elaine’s Dream.
I said “Hi Mom! Thanks for visiting, and I miss you.”
Lisa Marchionda Fama is a retired attorney who has lived in Marblehead for seven years, loves this town, and hopes she never leaves. Visit her blog at TheSoberWidow.com.
