The Dream My Son Couldn't Shake
What if healing starts with the things we can’t explain?
For a couple of weeks after his dad died, my son, Jaden, had the same dream every night.
He’d see Appa - “dad” - without fail. Sometimes in the distance. Sometimes right in front of him. The setting would shift or the tone would change. But each time Jaden closed his eyes and went to bed, there he was: the man he used to call his hero and favorite coach.
He’d wake up shaken, not just by the image of his dad, but by the confusing swirl of missing him, and the thin veil between reality and fantasy. I knew that grieving would take time. I knew that, to some extent, these dreams were normal. But on another level, because of the psychological warfare Steve’s exit had left behind, I couldn’t help but feel like there was a cruel anchor tied to Jaden. I didn’t want him dragged down by it.
One night, something new showed up in the dream.
A tsunami. Raging. Monstrous.
It didn’t crash or move. It just loomed, massive and threatening.
Jaden didn’t scream or run. He stood there. Frozen.
And there was Appa, appearing in the middle of the chaos.
What made the dream even more haunting was that this wasn’t a random fear. Both of my kids and Steve had always shared an irrational fear of tsunamis. It was a part of our unspoken fear language.
I’m no dream analyst, but the weight of the grief was apparent in Jaden’s psyche. And it was breaking my heart.
A few weeks later, I ran into a friend—not your typical grab-coffee kind of mom friend. She practiced Reiki, used a pendulum, and worked with flower essences.
As we caught up, she said something that stopped time.
“I heard about Steve,” she said. “That he passed.”
But mid-sentence, she paused. Her head and gaze tilted slightly upwards, and her eyes widened.
“I can see him,” she said softly. “Steve. Wow, he’s pissed. He’s kicking things, pacing in rage. He’s in a holding place.”
I didn’t flinch. That tracked. To a tee.
She offered to guide me through a Native American cord-cutting ceremony. Without hesitation I said, “Yes. When?”
It wasn’t flashy. No floating spirits. No glowing light.
But that night?
Jaden didn’t have the dream.
And he never did again.
✍️ Reflection Prompt
Have you ever had a dream, memory, or moment that felt like it came from somewhere else?
Somewhere deeper?
💌 CTA (Call to Action)
This is just one thread from Chapter 5 of my book-in-progress. I’m sharing it here because I think we need more room to talk about what grief actually feels like. And how healing can look… messy, mystical, or both.
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