Some people dream, some don’t, or at least they don’t remember doing so.
But do dreams mean anything? Well, while people are convinced dreams are a form of messages received by forces we are unable to see or feel while wide awake, some scientists claim that dreams are simply a result of neuronal processes taking place within our brain.
While we are asleep, our brains are anything but.
Sometimes, dreams happen as a reflection of the day that passed, and other times they represent our fears. But what does it mean when we dream of a deceased person?
These dreams can be seen as part of the process of grieving or a transition that takes place in our own life. According to Healthline, it has to do with the latter.
These dreams are common when we experience certain changes, such as getting a new job, moving places, or meeting someone new.
What is most important than the dream itself, however, is how it make us feel.
Rubin Naiman, who has a Ph.D. in psychology, spent years of his life studying sleep patterns and habits. According to him, “Dream interpretation is about decoding the dream. It enlightens us and expands our awareness psychologically, [offering an] expansion of consciousness.”
So, dreaming of someone who is no longer alive may be related to the changes mentioned above and how those changes affect us.
”A lot of contemporary neuroscientists believe during REM sleep, the brain is involved in maintenance tasks, and it accidentally ‘kicks up dust,’ visually. At that end, dreaming is considered totally meaningless.” On the other hand he explains, “The other end is that dreaming is more substantial than waking. And we see this in ‘dream cultures,’ such as the indigenous people of Australia, who believe dreaming is intrinsic to our spiritual existence.”
Experts place these dreams into four categories.
- First, dreaming of a deceased person may be interpreted as the brain trying to work through the pain of the loss.
- If we hadn’t made amends with the deceased person before their passing, we may feel guilt and that might be the reason why they visit us in our dreams.
- According to Lauri Loewenberg, a dream analyst, we may be dreaming of a deceased person if we see some of their behaviors, such as substance abuse or else, in ourselves.
- There are experts who believe that these dreams represent a visitation from the deceased person, especially if we see them in a good condition in our dream, meaning they are well dressed or seem happy. If we feel good about the dream, it may mean that the deceased person says ‘Hello.’
No matter what we feel about dreams, the truth is that they offer something deep and meaningful. They often give us insight into the soul and our connection with the deceased person that we see in our dreams.
MY HUSBAND LEFT ME WITH KIDS AND ALL THIS HEAVY LUGGAGE TO GET HOME ON MY OWN WHILE HE HUNG OUT WITH FRIENDS – THE LESSON I TAUGHT HIM WAS HARSH.
The roar of the airplane engines faded into the background as I stepped off the plane, two tired toddlers clinging to my legs. I scanned the crowd, expecting to see Tom, my husband, his familiar smile a welcome sight after a long flight. But he wasn’t there.
I called him, my heart sinking with each unanswered ring. Finally, he picked up, his voice casual, almost breezy. “Hey, honey! How was the flight?”
“Where are you?” I asked, my voice tight. “You were supposed to pick us up.”
“Oh, right!” he said, a hint of sheepishness in his tone. “Mike called. He’s in town, and we decided to grab a drink. Just for a few hours. You can manage, right?”
“Manage?” I repeated, my voice rising. “Tom, I have two toddlers, a stroller, and three heavy suitcases. I can’t ‘just manage’!”
“Come on, it’s just for a few hours. You can manage,” he replied again, dismissing my concerns with a wave of his voice.
I hung up, my anger a burning ember in my chest. He had abandoned me, his family, for a few hours of drinks with a friend. I felt a surge of resentment, a feeling that had been simmering for years, now boiling over.
The next few hours were a blur of chaos. I struggled to wrangle the kids, their tired whines echoing through the airport. I wrestled the stroller, a monstrous contraption designed to fold with the dexterity of a Rubik’s Cube, and lugged the suitcases, each one a testament to the sheer volume of “essential” items toddlers require.
By the time I finally made it home, I was exhausted, my body aching, my patience frayed. But as I collapsed onto the couch, a plan began to form in my mind. Tom had underestimated me. He had assumed I would simply accept his dismissive attitude, his blatant disregard for my time and effort. He was wrong.
The next day, I woke up with a renewed sense of purpose. I packed a small bag, kissed the kids goodbye, and left a note on the kitchen table.
“Gone to visit a friend. Will be back when I feel like it. You can manage, right?”
I drove to a nearby spa, a place I had always wanted to visit but never had the time or money for. I spent the day indulging in massages, facials, and manicures, reveling in the quiet solitude.
I turned off my phone, ignoring the barrage of calls and texts from Tom. I wanted him to experience what I had experienced: the feeling of being abandoned, of being taken for granted.
The next day, I went shopping, buying myself a new outfit, a pair of designer shoes, and a luxurious handbag. I spent the evening at a fancy restaurant, savoring a delicious meal and a glass of wine.
I returned home late that night, to find Tom pacing the living room, his face etched with worry. The kids were asleep, the house a mess.
“Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice laced with anxiety.
“Out,” I replied, my voice cool.
“Out? All day? All night?”
“Yes,” I said, “I needed some time to myself.”
“But… but the kids,” he stammered. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You managed,” I said, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.
He looked at me, his eyes filled with confusion and a dawning realization. “You… you did this on purpose.”
“Yes, Tom,” I said, “I did. I wanted you to understand what it feels like to be left alone, to be taken for granted.”
He looked down at his feet, shamefaced. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t think…”
“That’s the problem, Tom,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “You didn’t think. You assumed I would always be there, always manage, no matter what.”
He nodded, his eyes filled with remorse. “I understand,” he said. “I won’t do it again.”
I looked at him, searching his eyes for sincerity. I saw genuine regret, a flicker of understanding.
“Good,” I said. “Because I won’t tolerate it again.”
From that day on, Tom was a changed man. He became more attentive, more considerate, more appreciative of my time and effort. He learned that partnership meant sharing the load, not dumping it all on one person.
And I learned that sometimes, a little bit of payback can go a long way in teaching a valuable lesson.
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