Have you ever had a dream so real that when you woke up you fully expected to find it had actually happened? The person was really there . . . the event really occurred . . . the place really existed . . .
I have, more than once, but there is one that has stayed with me for a literal lifetime. I was about six, sharing a bedroom with my little brother because my parents had been told they’d never have children (Surprise!!), so they built a two-bedroom house—a mistake they rectified with an addition several years after our respective appearances.
Every night, I’d take my dolls off the bed I had so neatly made that morning and line them up in the floor beside it, with their backs propped up against the sliding closet doors that reached almost to the ceiling and constantly fell off the tracks. Then I’d cover everyone with a blanket, so they didn’t get cold, and settle in for the night. This was my bedtime ritual—that and brushing my teeth and saying my prayers before the appointed parent tucked me into the twin bed that was across the room from my brother’s. At least it was until . . .
. . . until the night I snuggled beneath the covers and drifted off to sleep, only to be rudely awakened by one of the dolls tickling me. At this point in my life, I am fully aware that I was dreaming. Probably. But it’s too late now. At that age? I stayed awake for quite sometime . . . waiting . . . staring into the darkness . . . listening for the slightest movement. Eventually, I fell into a fitful sleep, but it was a very long night.
The next night I decided perhaps the closet might be a better spot for everyone but me (and my brother) to sleep. So, I carefully placed each doll on the closet floor, covered them with their usual blanket, and crawled into my bed, secure in the knowledge that I was safe . . . until one of them escaped the confines of the closet in the middle of the night and tickled me yet again.
I had left the closet door open ever so slightly so a sliver of light from the hallway would filter into that otherwise dark and claustrophobic space. I mean, I might be upset with them but there was no reason to leave them in total darkness (something I do not care for in the least). But obviously my empathy and compassion had been misplaced. I threw back the covers, jumped out of the bed, shoved them as far back into the closet as I could, and made absolutely certain that door was as closed as humanly possible. Then I sat in the middle of the bed, curled up in a knot for the rest of the night. I was tired of being tickled and terrorized by a doll I had considered my friend, and since I had no clue as to the identity of the offender, everyone suffered the same fate. From that night on, every doll went in the closet at bedtime . . . and every door had to be closed. . .
To this day, I will not sleep in a room with an open door that I can see. If it’s within eyesight, it better be closed. And yes, I know I’m warped.
Those dreams were incredibly real, to the point they literally changed how I respond in certain situations. But how many of us have been blessed with dreams of those we love whom Death has claimed? It’s only natural. They are constantly in our thoughts while we’re awake; why would they not also dwell in our dreams? And sometimes those dreams are so real that we wake up fully expecting that person to be right there with us. In those fleeting moments when we first awake, the nightmare of their death has been just that—a nightmare. And their nocturnal visit is reality . . . until we realize it is not. Those dreams are both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because we get to spend one more minute with someone whose absence has left an incredible void in our lives. We may get to hear their voice again, feel them close to us or their hand in ours, walk and talk with them as we did in life . . .
And the curse? Their appearance is not ours to command; rather they seemingly come and go at their own pleasure . . . and vanish with the light of day.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926. She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
