Dreams

For the past two weeks or so I have been waking to dreams of a common theme. Each dream includes Aaron... that's good feeling. The dreams end the same way reality ended, with Aaron dieing. That's not good.

In the dream Aaron is dieing of an illness and I'm attempting to give him a pill or some sort of medicine. Watching Aaron's eyes begin to flutter and close or his breathing shorten and stop while I'm holding him in my arms is entirely different than reality; I wasn't there in Aaron's last moments. The dreams are adding one more level to the pain. I'm not in favor of this.

Last night the dream took a turn, maybe for the better. Aaron was in front of me as big as life. Everything seemed real: his big shoulders and hands, scruffy face. It was all Aaron. Wearing his blue jean jacket and his unruly mop of hair as dishelved as ever, Aaron said to me: Dad, I don't think I'm supposed to be here. He seemed, not worried or sad, but confused as if he had taken a wrong turn and ended up in the wrong classroom.

Recalling, in my sleep, the advice of an author I talked to Aaron in my sleep dream and encouraged him to go and see what heaven had for him. I told him the world no longer held him in limits. His response was not in words, but in the look on his face: OK. I actually felt like I was communicating with Aaron. The feeling was similar to having the Father-Son talks I miss. The ones where Aaron tells me of his plans and asks for my opinions on his ideas. (Sometimes he actually wanted my input.)

The dream switched to Aaron kneeling at the foot of God. His head bowed. When Aaron stood up, he was dressed in white and I guess vanished into heaven. Clearly in my sleep I felt disconnected from Aaron after he left, but content that we had talked.

At this point, Cathy woke me up. The middle of the night is a difficult time for her. She does not have, or doesn't recall "Aaron dreams". Cathy prays for a dream. I know she'd love to have a touch of what it was like to talk to Aaron. A dream might suffice.

Cathy has a theory that goes something like this: Even though we don't recall the experience, we do experience a deep, clear connection with our son in heaven. He is able to let us know that he is well and happy in heaven. We are able to share feelings and maybe even hugs. This expereince, which we have no conscious recollection of, carries us through for a time and that's how we are able to have "good days".

Seems probable to me. We've been told this is no time for rational thinking so I'm going to believe dreams are more than random thoughts or electrical energy sparking images in my restless mind. I've asked this before and I still wonder-- Why can't dreams be real?

Ready to call it a night.
Tom