Jan. 17, 1999
Grand Forks N.D.
Dear classmates and friends,
Five mornings a week I start my day by driving Emily to Red River High School and then heading for the mall where I walk for exercise. Lately Emily has been entertaining me on these cold morning drives by telling me about her dreams from the night before. Most her dreams follow familiar themes and seem pretty easy to understand, at least by my Psychology 101 standards. She’s had variations of the danger dream and the falling dream and the one where something important is about to happen but she just can’t get ready for it in time. I’ve had similar dreams and I’m sure many of you have too.
But do you ever have those kinds of dreams that seem to come from another world? There was a period in my life when I had a recurring dream I called The Big House. Sometimes the house was in Brookings where I went to college. It was an old house, two or three stories, with massive rooms, dark oak woodwork and high ceilings. Sometimes the house had secret stairways and passages. Often it was filled with antiques. Sometimes the house was so big that it seemed like a stadium and there was a cavernous room at the top of it with a huge pipe organ. The room was filled with well-dressed people. A choir was singing. That one always seemed to me to be a dream about heaven.
A lot of my dreams seem to involve music even though I can’t sing or play an instrument and I barely know a half note from a whole note or a sharp from a flat. One night I dreamed a whole Broadway musical. People sang and danced for hours, beautiful wonderful songs that I had never heard before and, of course, couldn’t write down the next day.
None of those dreams seem quite as otherworldly as the ones I’ve had about loved ones who have died. I wonder what they mean? Are they a message from beyond? Last night in my dreams I washed dishes with my grandmother. Grandma Beck was old and sick when she died May 7, 1991, but in my dream she was strong and vital again. She was dressed in a sleeveless cotton house dress with her hair curled and white as snow like it was most of her life. She didn’t speak but it was wonderful to be close to her again.
When I woke I couldn’t help whispering, "I love you Grandma. It was good washing the dishes with you again." I have dreamed about my father several times since his death on Jan. 9, 1997. The first dream was shortly after his passing. In it Mark and I were sitting in the living room with Dad. He knew we were thinking about buying a car and he was asking us what kind of a car we were interested in, how much we planned to spend and similar questions. I thought these things were none of his business so I refused to answer him. But Dad didn’t get angry or offended. He kept talking quietly and on his face was that funny little smile he used to get when he knew he was teasing me and that it was starting to get to me. The next morning I woke up and thought, Damn! I had a chance to talk to Dad again and I wouldn’t talk to him. I could have kicked myself.
But my most amazing and wonderful dream happened soon after Grandma Beck’s death. I dreamed I was once again standing in the yard of her little house in Eureka, surrounded by Grandma’s beautiful flower and vegetable garden. Other friends and family were there too. The sun was shining and the sky was blue and Grandma, again wearing her sleeveless everyday house dress, was standing with her arms crossed across her chest laughing and talking. Then the side of her house began to gleam like the sun until it turned into a beautiful stained glass window. Near the top of the window the glass formed a white dove with outstretched wings. Was the dove Grandma’s way of letting me know that she was at peace? All I know is the dream makes me happy every time I think about it.
Wishing you peaceful nights and sweet dreams.
Your friend, Paulette