When people die, they go to my dreams.
I haven’t experienced the loss of anyone close, and I have no idea how I would handle that. I’m very thankful I haven’t been in a position to find out. But when someone I’ve met a couple of times, or known a little, dies, it seems they become more present, and vivid, in my dreams than they were to me in real life before. Sometimes as an echo and sometimes as a fully alive human being. Sometimes their presence reminds me of their death, and sometimes I don’t remember the person is dead until I wake up after the dream.
Either way, it’s a very strange feeling afterwards, remembering those dreams. Sometimes sad, sometimes beautiful. Of course, being reminded of their passing away is always sad, but if the dream was the kind where the person gets to come alive once more, it can be quite wonderful too. I can’t help but feel if they’re alive in my mind, in my dream world, they really are alive in some sense. Because I have always viewed my dreams as a different dimension, or alternative world, where I go when I sleep. When I was little I even used to tell people in my dreams “Sorry, but I have to go back to the other world now” when I felt I was waking up.
I’ve also always had places that reappear in my dreams that I’ve never visited in real life. Places that probably don’t exist. Yet, since they keep appearing in my dreams, I suppose they do exist – In my mind. Perhaps the people I dream of, who as far as I know don’t exist any more, do exist in that other world, just as those places do. It’s not a heaven, but it’s… something. It’s a world where they get to go on living and experiencing new things all the time. Where they get visits from their old world. Where there’s both magic and plain, ordinary life.
Somehow, even if I know it doesn’t change the reality of these people’s deaths, I find the thought comforting. And it gives meaning to their appearances in my dreams, in a more satisfying way than if I would only consider what things from my life they might represent. It makes the dreams about them, instead of me – And their appearance a mark left on the world, rather than a detail in a story made up by my subconscious.