On Christmas morning 2016–the second without my son, the first without my daughter-in-law–I awoke after a very strange dream. A dream that, like many, was at once ordinary and extraordinary. I felt the presence of my son Lucas, simultaneously a boy of seven or eight and a young man of 25, his age at death. We were headed to a service at the large white church on a hill where I had sung the Messiah days earlier (in real life). Many people from years of our lives clustered around the vestibule, including childhood friends of my sons. Past and present melded in that dreamy way of the subconcious. Amaya–about nine in the dream, actually 30–wearing a pure white dress, while washing white glossy dishes with great intention. “I already washed them” I told her. “Yes, but they must be done exactly this way.” Michael as himself, 30-years old and a pastor and husband, awaiting serenely at the pulpit. Without being told, I knew the sermon would somehow be about Lucas. Michael spoke of a white lamb. Was there talk of a sacrifice? Touches of red decorated the church. White church, white lamb, white clothing….blood-red highlights. Was this dream telling me about my lost loved ones?
Days earlier, I had begun to read the book Proof of Heaven, the reflections of a neuroscientist who had himself experienced the hereafter. For centuries, many people, from many walks of life, have described a similar experience, including the founder of Christian Science, Mary Baker Eddy. I long to believe in the continuum of existence, to know that Lucas, Ashley, and so many other lost loved ones, are nearby, just out of reach, still by our sides. Do I have or need proof? Certainly not. I have been given many signs in these few years.
Dreams are one of many ways I receive signs. Another is through spirit animals. Cloud formations, beautiful sunsets bring solace. So many encounters have touched my heart and soul, when I most needed to connect.