---Alice Abrams

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Echoes of "The Dream of Peace..."

I was given a great gift. I had a dream that brought healing and hope; sweetness and light; faith and peace.

My parents were 30 when I was born, and then a teen-ager in the sixties. They were born in 1917 and 1919. It's difficult to image the immense changes in science and technology, let alone culture. I was extremely close to my dad but I gave him a lot of grief in high school. My mom let me know just how much grief: high blood pressure. He died a few years later of a massive heart attack. I took it upon myself to carry the weight of his death on my shoulders, placing the responsibility of his heart attack on my actions.

I never had the opportunity to know him as an adult. I was barely 21 when he died. I never said, "I'm truly sorry." I prayed one night and asked God to please tell my dad how very sorry I was for the hurt I had caused.

One morning, I awoke after having the most vivid dream of my life. It was brief but as clear as if I had literally walked into the scene and taken a photograph of every image and nuance.

The Dream ~~~It was nighttime and cold. You could see your breath in front of you. I was at a train station right out of the 1940's. There was a structure under which the train pulled in, steam and smoke boiling out of the engine and from underneath the big beast. I've never cared much for trains but this one was special. I had an air of anticipation and even though I was standing back in the distance watching, I knew I had to come closer. A door opened and a man, wearing an overcoat and a fedora stepped through, turning to give his hand to a woman, wearing a heavy winter coat with a fur collar, and a hat. They were definitely dressed in clothing from the '40's. They stepped onto the platform and looked toward me, as though they were expecting me. Through the dim station lights, steam and foggy air, I could finally see their faces. It was my mother and father.

They looked just as they did in photographs I had seen when they were in Washington D.C. during the war. Young, bright-eyed, and very much in love. As their eyes alighted on me, my mother rushed toward me with her arms outstretched, my father following quickly behind her. I hurried to them and as we met, we gathered each other in an embrace, holding on tightly, the three of us. My mother said, "We love you." And I knew that this was the greatest gift of all: Forgiveness.

I reveled in their closeness and the sweetness of their presence, their essence, their being. There were no other words said and as we continued to embrace, I could hear the steam from the train, still standing on the platform and I knew our time together was at a close. We walked toward the train and they mounted the steps. As they withdrew from my grasp, they once again said, "We love you," and the train slowly pulled away from the station, into the night. I could see their breath in the air as they waved slowly, smiling at me until I could no longer see their faces.

I have never believed that dreams have a purpose or are anything other than busy thoughts of our daily lives and inner turmoil. Until now.

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