Of all his many dreams, this one is most vivid, poignant

I have had that very dream, with the same reaction, a number of times over the 30 years. I continue to welcome it, and I see nothing spooky or mysterious about. It usually occurs after an incident or conversation that recalls a vivid memory of her.

Some people never dream, so I’m told, and some dream frequently. I’m one of the latter, not dreaming every night, but quite often. Sometimes they are random dreams that can’t be readily identified with any conscious thought or incident. And sometimes, like last Thursday night, the dreams are so real that they stay with me all through the day and sometimes longer.

Aug. 4 was the 30-year anniversary of the death of my wife Ethel. It was 5 a.m. when the beautiful young nurse shook me gently, saying, “Wake up, honey, it’s all over.” I was lying on a cot beside Ethel’s bed at Torrington’s Charlotte Hungerford Hospital, and waking immediately, was not surprised to receive the awful news. There was shock, of course, but all of us close to her knew that the vicious cancer she had fought so bravely would eventually claim her life. She was 55.

The week after that is a bit hazy in memory. I thought of her constantly, went daily to her grave and tended it lovingly. Then, in a few days, I returned to work, and the routine of a job I loved helped me adjust. I discovered a person never recovers. He simply learns to manage the pain.

Eventually, my patchedup life, with its daily routines and responsibilities, became the norm. But I found it interesting that I, a dreamer, never dreamed of her. My dreaming hadn’t stopped. I still dreamed of one thing or another, but Ethel was never present in them. Some of our 10 children revealed that they have dreamed of their mother, some more often than others.

And then it happened for me, after a couple of years had elapsed. Until that time, I had not dreamed about her, even once, since her death. In the dream, I was seated in my recliner chair in our old house on Woodbine Street, watching a game or program on the old black and white television.

Suddenly, she was standing beside my chair. She had a dish towel over her shoulder and was dressed in tennis shoes, jeans and a red blouse that she favored. She appeared to be taking a break from what she lightly called “work-a-day doings” around the house.

Her right hand was resting lightly on my shoulder and she was looking straight ahead, at the TV, lips slightly parted in a half-smile, a familiar expression. I started to speak to her, but before I could utter a syllable, she was gone and I was awake. A feeling of peace and a sort of wonderment swept over me, as if she had really paid me a visit.

I have had that very dream, with the same reaction, a number of times over the 30 years. I continue to welcome it, and I see nothing spooky or mysterious about. It usually occurs after an incident or conversation that recalls a vivid memory of her.

Recently, a son, Dan, sent out an email to his brothers and sisters, requesting that they submit a few memories of “Mom” to be used in his blog in connection with the anniversary of Ethel’s death. The nine of them flooded his mailbox with those memories. They’re still coming in. The family will treasure it, I promise you, when Dan produces the finished product.

I have a few thoughts to contribute, too, from the early times in the mid-1950s after we met and married and started out, just knowing this would be the start of something big. Thursday’s dream occurred after I examined those treasures of my memory, thinking of our most memorable times.

The special dream won’t show up again for a long time, but I know it will return eventually.

And that is very comforting, for it means my girl is there for me now, tomorrow, forever.