The Foretelling

I never have nightmares. Never. I rarely remember any of my dreams. But I’ve had a couple so vivid that they woke me up like a nightmare would. Except they weren’t nightmares. Just incredibly powerful and vivid dreams. So vivid, in fact, that for the first few moments after I had woken up I wasn’t sure if I had been dreaming at all.

I had the first dream several years ago, long before I was diagnosed with cancer. In this dream I met Jesus. No words were spoken, and none were needed. I simply felt this overwhelming presence and a sense of inner peace I’d never felt before. I felt safe. I felt loved. Any cancer patient can tell you how important those two things are. Was it vision? I really don’t know, but the mystic in me couldn’t disavow the thought.

Then a month before I got diagnosed I had another incredibly vivid dream. This one only seemed to take on meaning after my diagnosis. I was riding on a train somewhere in India. When the train came to a stop at the station, I saw my mother standing there waiting for me on the platform. I felt startled and confused because even in my dream I knew that she was dead.

So I ran out to see her as fast as I could. She just looked at me sadly, gave me a hug, and simply said “I’m sorry,” and then I woke up. Again, for a few moments I wasn’t sure if I had been dreaming or had just gone through some other worldly experience.

I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe this time it was indeed a vision, a foretelling. Did she know I was about to be diagnosed with cancer just two years after she died from it? Or maybe “I’m sorry” was an expression of her sadness for not being here to be, well, a mom. My mom. She always made me feel safe and loved, unconditionally, in a way only a mother can.

I can’t count the number of  times I’ve wanted to call her, to hear her voice one more time. I miss her. I no longer feel safe.