The phone call was a jolt, a cold splash of dread that ripped through the quiet of my afternoon. My mother’s voice, usually a warm, familiar melody, was a panicked whisper, a desperate plea. “Please, come save me from him!” she cried, the line abruptly going dead.
My son, Michael, had volunteered to spend the summer with her, a surprising turn of events. He’d always been a city kid, resistant to the quiet charm of my mother’s small-town life. But this year, he’d insisted, offering to take care of her, to give her caregiver a break.
My mother, fiercely independent despite her disability, refused to leave her house or move into assisted living. Michael’s offer seemed like a win-win, a chance for him to prove his newfound maturity, a break for me.
The first week had been idyllic. Michael was cheerful on the phone, regaling me with stories of fishing trips and local festivals. But a nagging unease had crept in when he consistently deflected my requests to speak with my mother, claiming she was busy or asleep.
Now, this phone call, a desperate cry for help, confirmed my worst fears. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed my keys, my heart pounding against my ribs, and sped towards my mother’s town.
The drive was a blur, a frantic race against time. The familiar landmarks of my childhood blurred past, each mile a torturous delay. As I pulled into my mother’s street, a sense of dread settled over me. The house, usually a beacon of warmth and light, stood dark and silent, its paint peeling, its once vibrant garden overgrown and neglected.
I parked the car and rushed to the front door, my hand trembling as I turned the knob. The door creaked open, revealing a scene that made my blood run cold.
The house was a disaster. Furniture was overturned, dust motes danced in the single beam of moonlight filtering through a grimy window, and a strange, acrid smell hung in the air.
“Mom?” I called out, my voice echoing through the silent house. “Michael?”
I moved through the living room, my footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust on the floor. The kitchen was a scene of chaos, dishes piled high in the sink, food rotting on the counter.
Then, I saw her. My mother was slumped in her wheelchair, her head resting on the armrest, her body still.
“Mom!” I cried, rushing to her side. I gently shook her shoulder, and her eyes fluttered open.
“Oh, darling,” she whispered, her voice weak. “He’s gone. He took everything.”
“Who, Mom? Michael?”
She nodded, her eyes filled with fear. “He changed, darling. He… he wasn’t the boy I knew. He became obsessed with… with things. He kept asking about your father’s old coin collection, and your grandmother’s jewelry.”
I helped her sit up, and she continued, “He said he needed to ‘make things right’ and that we were holding him back. He stopped letting the caregiver in, and he wouldn’t let me call you. He said he was taking care of me, but he was just… waiting.”
“Waiting for what, Mom?”
“I don’t know, darling. I woke up this morning, and he was gone. He took the coins, the jewelry, even my old locket. He left me here, alone, in the dark.”
I looked around the ravaged house, the empty spaces where precious heirlooms once sat, and a wave of anger washed over me. Michael, my son, had betrayed my trust, had abandoned his grandmother, had stolen from her.
I called the police, my voice trembling with rage. As I recounted the events of the past few weeks, a sense of disbelief settled over me. How could my son, the boy I had raised with love and care, have turned into this?
The police searched the house, documenting the damage, taking my mother’s statement. They promised to investigate, to find Michael, to bring him to justice.
As I sat beside my mother, holding her frail hand, I knew that the summer had taken a dark turn, a turn that would forever change our lives. I didn’t know what had happened to my son, or what had driven him to this act of betrayal. But I knew that I would find him, and I would make him answer for what he had done.
What does it symbolize when a person who passed away shows up in your dream?
Some people dream, some don’t, or at least they don’t remember doing so.
But do dreams mean anything? Well, while people are convinced dreams are a form of messages received by forces we are unable to see or feel while wide awake, some scientists claim that dreams are simply a result of neuronal processes taking place within our brain.
While we are asleep, our brains are anything but.
Sometimes, dreams happen as a reflection of the day that passed, and other times they represent our fears. But what does it mean when we dream of a deceased person?
These dreams can be seen as part of the process of grieving or a transition that takes place in our own life. According to Healthline, it has to do with the latter.
These dreams are common when we experience certain changes, such as getting a new job, moving places, or meeting someone new.
What is most important than the dream itself, however, is how it make us feel.
Rubin Naiman, who has a Ph.D. in psychology, spent years of his life studying sleep patterns and habits. According to him, “Dream interpretation is about decoding the dream. It enlightens us and expands our awareness psychologically, [offering an] expansion of consciousness.”
So, dreaming of someone who is no longer alive may be related to the changes mentioned above and how those changes affect us.
”A lot of contemporary neuroscientists believe during REM sleep, the brain is involved in maintenance tasks, and it accidentally ‘kicks up dust,’ visually. At that end, dreaming is considered totally meaningless.” On the other hand he explains, “The other end is that dreaming is more substantial than waking. And we see this in ‘dream cultures,’ such as the indigenous people of Australia, who believe dreaming is intrinsic to our spiritual existence.”
Experts place these dreams into four categories.
- First, dreaming of a deceased person may be interpreted as the brain trying to work through the pain of the loss.
- If we hadn’t made amends with the deceased person before their passing, we may feel guilt and that might be the reason why they visit us in our dreams.
- According to Lauri Loewenberg, a dream analyst, we may be dreaming of a deceased person if we see some of their behaviors, such as substance abuse or else, in ourselves.
- There are experts who believe that these dreams represent a visitation from the deceased person, especially if we see them in a good condition in our dream, meaning they are well dressed or seem happy. If we feel good about the dream, it may mean that the deceased person says ‘Hello.’
No matter what we feel about dreams, the truth is that they offer something deep and meaningful. They often give us insight into the soul and our connection with the deceased person that we see in our dreams.
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