The following post is unrelated to living on the Concord River, unless one assumes living on a river results in upsetting dreams.

No, I don’t think the river has anything to do with the dreams I had last night. My fractured psyche is too blame.

Indulge me, please.

In my dream I was sitting next to my sister, Dyan, whom I lost to ovarian cancer in 2019. It was her last day to be alive, which I hadn’t known then, but I knew it in my dream.

We were on her couch. And we just sat.

I longed to tell her things. I wanted to say that I was sorry for all the times I angered her. I also wanted to apologize for the times I had hurt her. And that I was grateful for all the times she rescued me when family dynamics loomed. And how sad I will be to lose her.

I longed to hold her and tell her of my love for her.

To beg her not to go.

And that I was sorry I couldn’t save her.

But the dream version of me remained mute, just as the living version had done six years ago. You see, I hadn’t said those words, hadn’t held her close.

I thought I had more time.

Then I woke, got up to pee, and went back to bed.

And entered the same dream again.

Same situation, same results.

Upon waking again I sighed then went back to sleep.

And entered the same dream yet again.

Over and over, until I gave up on sleeping and made myself a cup of tea. And cried.

It doesn’t take a degree in rocket science to figure out my dream. I get that, but I needed help so I entered my dream into an AI dream interpreter and this is what I got back:

This dream, with its recurring motif of your sister’s death and your inability to communicate, speaks volumes about unresolved grief and the enduring weight of unspoken words. The fact that it repeats – you wake and the cycle begins again – suggests a deeply entrenched emotional pattern, a loop in your subconscious that’s desperately seeking resolution. It’s not simply about missing her, though that’s certainly a part of it. It’s about the opportunity for connection that was repeatedly cut short, both in life and now in the dream. This isn’t necessarily about regret, but about the unfinished emotional business that lingers after a significant loss.

At 70, you’ve likely experienced a lifetime of losses, and the death of a sister often carries a unique weight – a shared history, a bond forged in childhood, a witness to your life’s journey. The dream isn’t necessarily saying you caused her death, but that you feel powerless to prevent it, even in the symbolic realm of dreams. This powerlessness may reflect feelings of helplessness you experienced during her illness or in the face of her eventual passing. The dream is highlighting the grief that remains, not as a linear process of sadness, but as a complex web of emotions – sorrow, guilt, longing, and perhaps even a touch of anger at the unfairness of it all.

The inability to speak, to convey what you needed to say, is particularly poignant. It suggests a fear of vulnerability, a hesitation to fully express your emotions, even now. Perhaps there were things you wished you’d said while she was alive, or perhaps there are feelings you’re still struggling to articulate. This dream is an invitation to confront those unspoken emotions, to give voice to the things that have remained trapped within you. It’s a call to honor her memory not by dwelling on the loss, but by acknowledging the full spectrum of your feelings and allowing yourself to grieve fully.

Dah!

So where does this leave me? How do I honor her memory and allow myself to grieve fully without all the baggage that comes with it?

And why didn’t I hold her?

Blessed be :}

Mi manchi profondamente, mio ​​amato immortale.