Barbara J. Hamby

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Dreams and Broken Dreams

A couple of nights ago I dreamed about my mother. She’s been gone for more than ten years now. Toward the end of her life I was her caregiver and, in some ways, our roles were reversed.

I don’t dream about her often, but always before this last dream, she has never spoken. I have just been aware of her presence. In this most recent dream, she spoke and it was obvious our relationship had reverted back to its original status. She was the mother and I, although definitely an adult, was the child.

She handed me some strange looking coins and I attempted to give them back to her. “Take them,” she demanded, “in case you go to Turkey.” I have no explanation for this dream or any others that I have, for that matter.

This afternoon I took the story of my first marriage to the critique group. It was more difficult to read it aloud than I had anticipated. I thought I had been working on it long enough that I was detached from the emotional impact. I was wrong. At any rate, I was able to complete it and received very supportive feedback and suggestions for minor revisions.

Going through the stories from my life that did not have “happy-ever-after” endings is grueling. I hope there are lessons there to make it worthwhile.