A few years ago I had what you would call a “visitation dream.” It is not uncommon for me to have a spirit come and visit me while I am asleep, this was an exception. This time I found myself in a black and white landscape standing at the foot of a hill and I was a child again. This dream played out more like a movie than the normal dreams I have where I am fully aware of the dream state and in control. I watched the child version of myself look up at an ominous hill with headstones scattered about, the different shades of grey of against what would have been a beautiful blue sky. Buildings were the background and it was quiet.
A woman stood next to me, she had balloons in one hand and my own hand in her other. The actors who portrayed little me and the woman never looked back at me, they were both fully focused on the hill in front of them. They began to walk up a path slowly and I started to understand who was I watching hold my hand. This was my Mother and she was bringing me to the spot where he had been buried over thirty years ago. As I arrived at that conclusion we arrived at her headstone. She looked down at little me and smiled. With that the dream was over an I woke up thirty two and in my bed.
The next morning I had thought about the dream and what it could have meant. I have never had a black and white dream and I have never watched one unfold like a movie. The biggest part though was that I have never had my mother visit me, even now as a Medium she does not come speak to me. I am not upset, I was adopted shortly after my natural mother died and raised by the best parents anyone could ask for. Knowing that Kay, my natural Mother had never visited I knew that this was a special dream. She made a very specific point, I needed to go visit her grave. I have never done that before and as a matter of fact had no idea where she was buried. If you think that is wrong please don’t be put off by it, my whole life I have known that we can speak to spirits and they do not reside where we lay them in a grave.
I am fortunate enough to have several siblings that are older than I am and thanks to the world we live in have kept in communication with them. I contacted my Brother who was about eighteen when Kay passed and he knew where she was buried. He even was in town and that afforded me the opportunity to meet him at the cemetery which is located in Jersey City. My wife accompanied me on a beautiful sunny day were we met with my Brother, someone who I have not seen in about fifteen years at the time. The cemetery is located on a hill surrounded by buildings in the middle of the city.
I already had the feeling I had been there, it was exactly how I had seen it in my dream with the exception of not seeing Kay and I was in full color. My wife and I walked up to the headstone and met with my Brother. We spoke for a while like we hadn’t skipped a beat. The conversation turned to my father, someone who had nothing to ever do with me except signing me over at the adoption. My Brother has a different father and did not know much about the man who helped bring me about. I knew his name and that was about it, now I was finding out that he was a firefighter in the city. That is all Kay had ever told anyone. My brother and I parted ways, I thanked him for meeting me and now we speak pretty often.
After a few days my curiosity got the better of me and I google’d the name I had against Jersey City fire fighters and sure enough an obituary came up. It was for a man that fit the age and geographical location of someone who could have been my father. I did a few days of research and have come to believe that this was him. Why is that important? In the grand scheme of my life it isn’t the man who raised me is truly my Father and my Dad. I believe that Kay was just getting me some information to me that she thought that I should have, I would no longer have to wonder if I would run into this man in my life.
A quick side note to this story from when I was a child. The woman who adopted me, my Mom told me that when I first lived with them I wouldn’t call her Mom but would call Tom, her husband Dad. She said that she was upset about it but didn’t want to press the issue, after all I had a Mom until now and I was around four years old. One morning I woke up, according to her and started calling her Mom. I don’t recall this at all and this is where the story becomes more remarkable. The night before I started calling her mom she received a phone call saying that Kay had lost her battle with cancer and she passed away.
This is dedicated to the amazing family I was adopted into, the people who helped me when I couldn’t help myself and all the Angels who have orchestrated the amazing life I have led. Thank you for your support and never letting me give up and to my Wife thank you for keeping up the support. It takes a special person to not kick out a man who says he speaks to the dead.