One day, about three months after his death, my father came to me in a dream. In the dream I went out onto the side porch of my mom and dad’s house, the home I grew up in, and somehow our telephone appeared on the porch ledge and began to ring. I saw my father sitting on the side porch of a neighbor’s house two doors up from where we lived and he was calling me on the phone. It was strange because I could see him; we were watching each other, but in reality the distance was so close a phone wouldn’t have even been considered. He told me that he’d figured out what had happened to him, knew where he was, didn’t want me to worry anymore, and that he’d be okay now. He wanted me to take care of my children, Scott, and my mom, and if I needed him I could call him at 1-800-234-5888. “Call me anytime,” he said. After that dream I slowly began accept his death.
I told my mom about this dream and she was certain that he’d called me with a message that had a hidden meaning on a way to get some lucky money. She said my dad wouldn’t just call me to reassure me that he was okay, he’d want me to feel really good about the call so the phone number he gave me was surely a way for him to pass on winning numbers I should play on the lottery. She said I should play the numbers for three days and be sure to play them just as he gave them to me. I played the numbers. I didn’t win anything. He’d just called to tell me it was time to move on.
When my mother died I knew my grief would be eased some if only she’d come to me in a dream and let me know that she was okay, that her journey was complete, and that she was at peace. I thought she’d call me on the phone just as my father had. A phone call would be nice, I thought. It took three months, just as the dream of my dad had, and finally my mother came to me in a dream and eerily it was on the anniversary date of my father’s death.
In the dream I was doing some crafts with foam stickers on the grounds of a castle at a resort in what was probably Bali, and Bali was now located near the home where I grew up. You know how dreams are always so sensible when you are dreaming but not so much when you are awake. Where I grew up was not remotely like Bali, there were no castles in our neighborhood, and no one I knew dressed like the genies and belly dancers that roamed around in my dream helping with the foam crafts. Anyway, I left the Bali resort to walk home. I could see my childhood home right on the road down below where I was walking when my mother suddenly appeared and told me to come back to the castle at the resort because we were going to the Madonna concert that was about to start.
Mom wasn’t a Madonna fan. She had read enough about her to know that she didn’t like her and that Madonna was too obscene, too sexual, too everything. Songs called “Like a Virgin”, "Papa Don't Preach", and "Like a Prayer", along with her musical productions with crosses and pointed bras were anti- religious, and her off-stage behavior was offensive. Mom faithfully read only one book, the Bible, and one magazine, The National Enquirer, which gave her all the scoop on Madonna. She said if it was printed in The National Enquirer it had to be true or they wouldn’t be allowed to print it. The fact that Madonna was crazy wealthy because of this appalling behavior was a thorn in Mom’s side. My mother was like a Mean Girl going after the Material Girl.
She knew the world would be a better place if her deceased husband, parents, siblings and other deceased relatives would just put in a good word for her with God so she could hit the lottery and become crazy rich like Madonna. She figured they were right up there in Heaven and had God’s ear so it wouldn’t hurt for them to ask. She felt certain she’d do better with a big bunch of money and be way more responsible than Madonna. She told all the deceased relatives to assure God that she promised to do many good things and would be much more positive and moral as a role model than Madonna.
So, of course it seemed obvious to both Scott and me that my mother was visiting me in a dream with Madonna in it to pass on some very important information, and we knew my dad was supporting her because of the date of the dream. My mother’s dream of hitting the lottery and becoming crazy rich like Madonna would be fulfilled through me!
Scott immediately went to the gas station and bought a $20 lottery scratch off ticket. The ticket was a $40 winner, so taking into account the $20 we spent to get the ticket, we were up by $20. Mom’s visit in my dream surely meant something bigger than the $20 winning we had just experienced so we spent the rest of the day going to lots of different places buying Powerball, Cash 5, a bunch of scratch off tickets, and every other kind of lottery ticket available. The next morning we got our coffee ready, sat down and opened the newspaper expecting to see our lottery numbers proclaiming that we were as rich as Madonna. We were so excited!
We did not have even one number. Zip. Zero. Nada. About $60 poorer is all we got. My mom was really just paying me a visit, reminding me to honor my father on the anniversary of his death, letting me know she was okay, and telling me not to be so stupid with $60 ever again.
My mom died three years ago this past November 18. I miss her and I miss my dad. Maybe they are visiting a castle in Bali and planning to go to a Madonna concert. I think they are too busy and too happy to come to me in my dreams now and at last it’s becoming okay.