Dreams

My mother has Dreams.  I know we all dream, but hers come with a capital letter “D” and must be shared with anyone who will  listen (a dwindling band).   While her dreams vary in content, the format is always the same – bizarre and frankly highly unlikely things happen, involving long-dead relatives (or ill ones, or even ones she hasn’t seen for a while) who are usually desperate to tell her something.

To the rest of us, these dreams are simply the brain’s way of processing a load of accumulated rubbish while we are asleep.  To my mother, however, they are clearly prophetic.  After experiencing one, she gives herself a hard time worrying constantly about the inherent message.  Over the next couple of days she will phone everyone she cares about in order to check that they are all right/not dead.

My mother has been alive for nearly 88 years.  During that time no-one close to her – or even known to her – has died after one of these dreams.  But statistically, one day someone probably will.  And on that day, she will tell us all that she was right.  My mother does not understand confirmation bias.

Last night I had a bad dream involving a terrible row with a close family member.  Iain had to wake me up because I was shouting out in distress.  This morning I have had to fight off the urge to phone my loved ones to check that they are all right/not dead.

Sometimes the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.

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