Dreams are tricky. Some people believe they carry meaning. They can be transparent like “You’re dreaming of an ex-girlfriend? I think it means you’re lonely.” or “You met your ex at a waterfall? The water symbolizes rebirth. Forget the girl…what’s new on your horizon?? Whatever it is, this is your cue to take that chance.” Maybe some dream to remember while others dream to forget. Then there are those who think they’re just arbitrary visions triggered by electrical pulses in our brains while we sleep and nothing more.
Generally speaking, I fall into the latter camp. Dreams don’t hold deeper meanings. Maybe that’s why I’ve yet to have a vivid dream of Lara. Or maybe my sister’s right and I haven’t dreamt of her because there was no ambiguity between my wife and I. There is nothing we needed to clarify or resolve. She died and we both had clear consciences. That being said, there have been several times I wished to see her in my sleep. I haven’t.
Further complicating the problem with our dreams is sharing them. In my experience listening to someone tell you about a dream they had is a fairly dull affair. What was so vivid and poignant and exciting to someone comes off lackluster when they try to share that experience. It’s a shame really. I’ve had some powerful dreams myself but never bothered to share them beyond just a 15-second highlight reel. However, there have been a handful of times when people have shared a dream with me and I felt like it could’ve been my own. These people are a gift to the rest of us.
My friends own the coffee shop where Lara and I had our wedding. She was a celebrity there and it was always heartwarming when we walked in. “California Lara is here!! And Patrick’s with her.” Ha! It was like fanfare followed by a warning to lock up your valuables if I was in tow. “Sound the trumpets! *and hide your gold and jewels*”
A few months ago I went to the cafe for a regular visit and a caramel latte. Kevin shared a dream that he had with me and I’m taking this opportunity to retell that dream in my own words. I’m keeping the premise of the story as he gave it to me (he told it succinctly and touchingly…I was anything but bored by his dream), but the window dressing is mine. If I do his story injustice through artistic liberty, I offer my deepest apologies, mea culpa.
A Dream to Remember
Wow, he told himself. What a busy Saturday this has been. He continued gathering the dirty napkins and half-finished coffees from the tables, counting his blessings that the cafe he and his wife opened had become such a pinnacle of their community. He checked with a table of patrons who were leisurely finishing up their meals, but he wasn’t rushing them. No, he was being hospitable. They were enjoying themselves and that gave him purpose.
It was after he descended the stairs that he saw her. She was sitting in her usual spot by the window, tapping away on her laptop. A remote worker, she came to the cafe at least twice a week to say hello, stock up on gluten-free snacks for later, and do some digital marketing. That can’t be her, he said to himself. He wanted to take a closer look, but he was mindful of staring and went about his business prepping for closing time.
As he entered the kitchen his wife asked, “Did you see her?!” She didn’t even pretend to conceal her excitement.
“Who?”
“Lara! She’s out there. Did you say hello to her?”
“Well, I saw someone I thought was her. But it can’t be…”
“It is!”
He went back out to the dining area wanting to believe his wife, but rationalizing that there is no way it could be a woman who died three months ago. As he walked to her table he found it empty. It was as if she’d never been there. A figment of his—and his wife’s—imagination. A ghost. It was then that a strange compulsion overtook him and he stepped outside the front door. The street was deserted and the sidewalk radiated an unseasonable warmth for late winter. Not unpleasant. Just uncommon. He looked to his right and saw nothing but the closed shops. Then he looked to his left and saw a solitary figure walking away with a laptop in the crook of her arm.
“Lara?” he called after her. The woman turned to face him. The sun shone through the clouds and onto her face but she didn’t bother to shield her eyes or squint. A breeze blew an errant strand of hair across her mouth. “Lara?” he repeated, but it was really a statement of incredulity.
“I miss you guys,” she said serenely, absent-mindedly dealing with the strand of hair. Then she smiled and continued, “Everyone is really nice to me here. It’s full of love and kindness. And I’m really proud of Patrick.” She turned to go and before he could say anything more, she faded into etherealness and was gone. As if she’d never been there. A figment of his imagination.
Final Thoughts
Sometimes gifts come packaged up nicely with a bow and all of the thoughtfulness poured into it. But there are other times when the meaning comes after the fact. I tend to think of my friend sharing his dream with me as a gift with a meaning attached that he was unconscious of. I had been feeling understandably down at the time and I was struggling with some choices I was making and still facing.
Hearing from someone else that Lara was proud of me helped steel my resolve. Even if I misstep, she would cheer on my attempt to work my way through life with passion and intention. Sometimes guys like me need that sort of validation. Otherwise, we spend too much time behind drawn shades and closed doors. And, in conclusion, if there is anything I’ve learned in the wake of tragedy, it’s that walls can’t close in on you if they’re not there.
