Normally, I don't remember my dreams.
Once in a while, I do.
Last night, I dreamt of my dead family members.
They were all there, gathered in one place ... my
mother, grandparents, great-grandparents, step-father,
aunts and uncles. We were all together in some large
banquet-hall. My Great-Aunt Catherine took me by the
arm and led me to the doorway, explaining as we went,
that there was a surprise waiting for me.
Just outside the door stood my biological father, Herschel Cooper.
He reached out, took my hand and shook it, saying that we had
much to talk about. (For some reason, he was dressed as a 1940's
Highway Patrol motorcycle cop ... dark blue jodhpurs, black boots,
blue shirt, dark blue tie, black leather jacket, black gun-belt with
a .38 revolver in the holster.)
I've not seen him, in the flesh, for ..... 60 years. In my dream,
he was much older than in his photographs ... gray-haired with
a face that was creased, becoming jowly.
(His eyes were blue!)
We walked away, together, and he began to speak
... that's when I woke up.
Herschel E. Cooper - ca. 1945, Philadelphia, PA
Are dreams prescient?
When my mother was going in for her first major surgery in
1960, she dreamt that her long-dead grandmother came to
her in the night. She came to tell her that everything would be
all right ... that she would survive the surgery. My mother said
that she believed because when her grandmother bent to kiss
her forehead, my mother felt the long braid of hair that her
grandmother used to wear, brush across her face.
My mom survived that surgery ... and one more in 1973.
I've always maintained that dreams were concoctions of our brain,
trying to make sense of the day's happenings.
Dunno ... as I get older, I do wonder.
-Fini
PS:
Or maybe it was that chicken salad sandwich I ate as a late-night snack.
Related postings:
http://jmawelsh.blogspot.com/2011/11/29-nov-11.html
jmawelsh.blogspot.com/2012/05/05-may-12.html
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