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Dreams of Mom
by R.P. Infantino
(First published in Conceit Magazine)

    After thousands of years studying dreams, the researchers are still in dispute as to why or how we dream. Going as far back as 400 B.C.E., Plato taught that dreams are a passageway for messages. Aristotle believed that in the dream state, the soul gains supernatural wisdom. Chuang-tzu taught that the waking state and the dream state are both necessary to human life. Freud referred to dreams as “the royal road to the unconscious.” Jung, a student of Freud, believed that we dream symbols found in mythology. New-age proponents believe we can alter our dreams. There are differing and ever-changing theories on the dream state.

    From my own research, I believe our conscious mind has difficulty holding everything that enters it—what we think, feel, see, imagine—so much of it is moved to the unconscious. To us, it is forgotten. But as the greatest computer ever created, the brain’s unconscious stores it all. Every so often, in deep sleep—also known as Rapid Eye Movement, or REM sleep—some of the stored information from the unconscious loads itself into a dream. Freud noted that dreams are an outlet for the pressures from the unconscious, the brain’s way of clearing out the stored gunk. Press down fully on the gas pedal of a poorly tuned car and black smoke spews from the exhaust. So, too, are dreams our mind’s way of clearing the excess from our unconscious.

    Using a real-world example from my own life, a recent dream involved a Thanksgiving party thrown by my niece at her new house. My best friend attended, helping with the festivities. Who shows up? Billy Joel. Upon interpreting this dream, Freud and his followers would find psychological symbolism and meaning, all with little merit. Here’s my take on it: A week prior to the dream was the first day of autumn which always reminds me of Thanksgiving; my niece recently bought a new house; my best friend is always on my mind; and finally, commercials have been airing on TV for an upcoming Billy Joel concert. It’s that simple. A few unrelated people and events that entered my conscious mind, exiled to the unconscious, then played out in my dream world. No repressed desires or latent symbolism. To paraphrase Freud, sometimes an insignificant dream is just an insignificant dream.

    When I had no dreams of my mother, I simply figured I held no issues—no gunk, so to speak—that I needed to release. As I thought more about her, I began to dream more of her, initially as a background guest, not one of the major players, usually doing household chores as she was wont to do. In my dreams, she appeared as the younger Mom, the strong woman of my youth who reminded me of Mammy Yokum of Li’l Abner fame, lifting a couch with one hand while vacuuming underneath with the other. I never dreamed of the older Mom—weak of body and mind—so when I woke from these dreams, I always felt so wonderful seeing Mom of earlier times who I loved—and still love—so much.

    But it never satisfied me. Being a bit player in my dreams frustrated my desire, or need, to see more of Mom. Unlike a screenplay, I couldn’t draft a bigger part for her as I was at the mercy of whoever, or whatever, cast these ethereal vignettes. I was happy just to see her again.

    Then a marvelous thing began to happen: Mom appeared in more dreams playing a bigger role each time. The more I dreamed of Mom the more I dreamed of her. Like eating potato chips—the more you eat, the more you continue to eat. In the dream realm, Mom and I now held conversations and I began to feel emotions—joy, love, happiness—something I never experienced in dreams prior. Normally I would feel these emotions after awakening; after all, how can a dream-like me—one who is not real—have feelings? But for the first time, dreams of Mom caused me to have feelings in the dream itself. For example, one dream was of a Saturday afternoon with Mom preparing a family meal and Dad outside working on the yard. As I entered the house, I noticed Mom, she was thin, more agile and strong as she was in her younger days. I stood wide-eyed as I spoke:

    “Mom, you look great. You don’t need the walker, and you lost a lot of weight.”

    Mom simply smiled as she continued preparing the meal. I felt—yes, felt—so happy that I wanted to do something for her, but also with her.

    “Mom, would you like to go for a walk?”

    “I can’t. I have so much to do here.”

    “Well, maybe later, when you’re done? Or another day? Can we do something together?”

    I held this feeling in the dream of wanting to spend time with Mom. Her last few years being so frail and needing the walker, I missed out on so much with her. Now that she was better—in my dream—I wanted to make up for lost time.

    “We’ll see,” she said.

    I felt so much love for her in the dream. The urge to do something overwhelmed me, so I ran out and bought flowers, something she loved but never received often enough. When I returned, I handed them to her, hoping this small gesture would make her feel as wonderful as I felt.

    She held the flowers, eyeing their beauty, breathing in their aroma, beaming like a schoolgirl at a prom.

    “What are these for?” she asked.

    The dream began to turn hazy.

    “I don’t ever want you to forget how much I love you.”

    These dream-words reverberated like an echo in a cave, then trailed into the distance. The words floated away as if attached to an unmanned kite, traveling into the stratosphere, still echoing, high above and way beyond. The words finished off with an eerie, celestial sound.

    “I don’t ever want you to forget how much I love you” ended my dream as I woke. How happy and serene I felt. Dream experts agree that when one awakens immediately from a dream, there is a greater degree in fully remembering its details. This was the case with me, as not only did I vividly remember the dream, I remembered my feelings in the dream, and my feelings upon awakening. All simply wonderful. With apologies to Chuang-tzu, I do not know whether I was a son who dreamed his mother was still alive, or whether I am now dreaming I’m awake, and she is gone.

    Days passed and it was all I could think of: Dreaming of a younger, healthier Mom, of how I longed to spend time with her, and the feelings I held in the dream realm. It has been noted that the Aborigines of Australia do not acknowledge a difference between their dream world and their waking life. In some respects, this could be ideal. Imagine the life we live—filled with a disproportionate amount of pain and suffering, happiness and love—is really one long dream that ends when we sleep. Our dreams, then, become our reality. If my dreams of Mom—which are so real I’m unaware I’m dreaming—are my actual reality, then I prefer to stay in my dream-world with Mom than to be awake without her.

    In reminiscing this dream for days, a realization occurred so incredible, an author could not have written it so perfectly.

    “I don’t ever want you to forget how much I love you” were not my words to Mom as I originally thought. It was Mom who said these words to me as her voice trailed off this earthly plane to the realm she is in now.

    There is no pain in heaven, the Bible tells us. If those in heaven were aware of us, they would feel such sorrow knowing we are still on this earthly sphere, not experiencing the eternal joy and love in heaven. Since there is no pain or sorrow in heaven, we know those heaven-bound are unaware of us.

    In my imperfect and needy heart, however, I believe somehow, some way, Mom was letting me know, “I don’t ever want you to forget how much I love you.” It is what she would tell me, right here, right now.

    That’s my mother. Forever memorable.

S. Infantino
(1926 - 2011)

Copyright © 2023 by R.P. Infantino