Dreams

She came to me in a dream—but it felt more real than anything I had known while awake.

The next way my mom reached me—at least the first one I consciously noticed—was through a dream.

About a month after she died, my husband came home and told me he had been laid off. Just like that, he no longer had a job. Strangely, because I was already moving so deeply through grief, the news barely shook me. I remember laughing and saying, “Well… bring it on. I guess we’ll just enjoy the holiday season. Life just keeps getting interesting.”

Six months earlier, he had landed what felt like the job of a lifetime. I’ll never forget that night. My mom was over for dinner, and he brought out a nice bottle of wine to share the news. We toasted—to his success, to our security, to our family.

My mom was so happy for us.

At the time, I was mostly a stay-at-home mom, raising our kids. I had just started working part-time at a community college, but my income wouldn’t have supported us. It was more about contributing, about saving for college, about building something for the future.

My mom—who carried her own deep relationship with financial security—worried about that kind of thing. She always wanted us to feel safe, stable, protected.

And I knew, deep in my heart, that if she were still alive, she would have been worried about us in that moment.

But that night, I went to bed oddly at peace.

The next morning, when my alarm went off, my husband gently said, “Why don’t you just sleep in? I’ve got the kids.”

So I did.

I drifted back into that in-between space—not fully asleep, not fully awake. A place I’ve always been able to access easily. I’ve always been a vivid dreamer. I can move in and out of dreams, even return to them if I wake too soon, as if I’m stepping back into another world that’s still unfolding.

In this dream, I was in my bed.

But I could hear voices.

As I looked toward the end of the bed, I saw two figures sitting there. At first, it was hazy—like looking through a fog—but slowly everything came into focus.

Their voices became clearer. Their presence stronger.

And between them, lying peacefully, was our dog, Dexter.

It was my mom.

And Joel.

They were talking.

I couldn’t make out the exact words, but I could feel what was being said. It was guidance. Reassurance. Love. The kind of steady, grounded support my mom always gave—especially when it came to family, to security, to him.

As I became more aware within the dream, something inside me clicked.

Oh my God… that’s my mom.

And I said it out loud:
“Mom…”

She turned and looked at me and then smiled. Smiled at me with that familiar twinkle in her eyes—the warm, compassionate smile that always made me feel completely loved and safe. Like she was saying with her eyes, “See? I’m okay. And so are you.”

I said it again, almost in disbelief, “Mom…”

We both reached for each other.

She stood up, walked around the bed, and came to my side.

And we embraced.

I could feel her energy. Her warmth. Her presence.

But not her physical body.

And then… she was gone.

I woke up immediately.

I grabbed my journal and wrote everything down.

And deep in my soul, I just knew—this wasn’t just a dream.

She had come to me.

I cried, but not from sadness—from gratitude. From awe. From something that felt like truth settling into my body.

This is real.

They can come to us.

Even if it’s through dreams.

Over time, I’ve learned more about dreams and the spirit world. That dreaming is one of the easiest ways for spirit to reach us—because we are more open. Our minds are quieter. Our defenses are softer.

We are, in some way, more available.

I’ve had many dreams since then.

I could write an entire chapter on them.

There was another one, at an airport while traveling with my family. I saw her face in the crowd. She turned her head and looked right at me.

Surprised, I said, “Mom… you’re here?”

She smiled and said, “Of course I am. I’m always with you… with the family… always.”

And somehow, that felt like the simplest truth of all.

But the dreams weren’t the only way she found me.

Slowly, gently, my eyes began to open in a different way.

I started noticing her in nature.

Not in a way that felt forced or like I was searching—but in those quiet, unmistakable moments where something makes you pause… and feel.

A hawk appearing at just the right moment—circling low, steady, intentional.
Hummingbirds hovering near me longer than usual, as if they were aware of my presence.
Butterflies crossing my path, delicate and fleeting, yet impossible to ignore – that was a sign from dog Dexter. I’ll share more about that in a future post.

Each time, there was a feeling.

A soft recognition.

A knowing that didn’t come from logic, but from somewhere deeper.

It wasn’t about proving anything.

It was about connection.

About staying open enough to receive.

I began to understand that maybe communication doesn’t always come in words.

Sometimes it comes in presence.

In timing.

In the way something shows up exactly when you need it—not to convince you, but to comfort you.

Not to be explained but to be felt.

And the more I allowed myself to trust those moments, the more they seemed to find me.

Maybe dreams aren’t just our mind processing loss—maybe they’re the place where love finds a way to meet us again.