The Dream

 I hesitated to write about this recent experience. It will be regarded by some as a figment of my imagination and it may make others angry. However, I recently shared it with a dear friend and it brought her tears of happiness. I am going to err on the side of whimsy and hope it brings you, dear one, happiness as well.

Last week I had a dream about my brother, John.  We lost John last year to Cancer right before Christmas and his 62nd Birthday.

John had a troubled life in many ways. I know he did because I witnessed that life AND I have had the same struggles. We didn't have a stable father and that affected us. I know that John wanted desperately to be what our father wasn't but the same demons our Dad struggled with WE  struggled with and those demons make a peaceful life almost impossible. Like our father, John could be angry, verbally abusive, threatening in the ways large men can be threatening. Like our father he could be incredibly charming and go to great lengths to help you if you needed help. If he was still alive, I am not sure we would have a relationship. I had had to distance myself from him because of his erratic behavior.  It was the Cancer diagnosis that made it possible for us to have a reunion of sorts. For that I am grateful. We were clear at the end. Amends had been made on my part. I still believe he meant what he said to me those last days. I choose to believe that, when he died, he loved me again.

In the dream John was young and healthy and vibrant. He was wearing a Joe Montana Jersey and we were sitting in a coffee shop filled with people, sunlight and soft conversation. We sat opposite each other and his face was handsome a clear and full of love and sweetness.  He reached across the table and held my hands.

John told me he was fine, he was happy and in no pain. He told me how sorry he was for all the years he had treated me like I was dirt, for the awful things he had told his children about me and for the way he had acted over and over again. He told me he wished he had stopped drinking and doing drugs while he was alive. Then he smiled at me and said, "Sissy, thank you for walking me home".

I woke up in such peace. I had happy, joyful tears running down my face. I was just so damn happy.

These dreams of mine are not unusual.  I dreamed of my Grandmother Rose Crocco about six months after she died. I dreamed of my mother a week after she died and I saw her standing in the hallway, outside my bedroom door with huge smile on her face. I dreamed of my husband when he passed away and he was holding our child - it is how I know our child was a boy.  I have dreamed of all my relatives who have passed and the only one I haven't dreamed of yet is my father.  I suspect it is because he still needs my prayers. 

In the world in which I live there is more than just the physical reality all around me.  Someone asked me one time if I believed in Ghosts.  I answer in the affirmative, though I am pretty sure my definition of Ghosts is different from that pushed by the popular culture; rather, as a Dominican, I believe as St. Thomas Aquinas wrote in his Summa Theologica:“According to the disposition of divine providence,” he wrote, “separated souls sometimes come forth from their abode and appear to men. …It is also credible that this may occur sometimes to the damned, and that for man’s instruction and intimidation they be permitted to appear to the living.” 

I did not 'see' John's Ghost. I dreamt of my brother. The encounter we had was free of anger, resentment, fear and self-pity. We were just Sissy and Johnny Jump Up.  We were at peace.

This season I wish for all of you the joy of finding the peace I found in that dream.