When Dreams Begin to Heal

Dreaming in my grief has been a love-hate relationship. I have longed to dream of Carter, to see his face again, hear his laugh, and feel close to him in any way possible. Yet, for so long, the dreams I had were not gifts. They were painful replays of trauma, leaving me emotionally shattered by morning.

After Carter died, my dreams often ended in the same horrific way, with me watching him helplessly die. Sometimes I would watch him fall from the second floor of a mall. Other times, I would witness him sick and dying all over again and each time I couldn’t help him. These dreams were vivid and gut-wrenching. I would wake up confused, uncertain whether Carter was alive or had already died. The weight of those dreams stayed with me through the day, they triggered intense grief and depression.

Over the past six months something has shifted though. Slowly and subtly the tone of my dreams began to change. At first, Carter was still sick, but he didn’t die. I remember the first morning I woke up and realized that, I shouted, “Carter didn’t die in my dream!”. That realization stunned me. These dreams were still not easy, but they were different and more manageable. I didn’t wake up emotionally ravaged, I could actually move through my day with a little more steadiness.

Then, two nights ago, I had a dream that felt like a true turning point. In it, Carter was a cancer survivor, he wasn’t undergoing treatment, and we were on an adventure together. I was able to look at his handsome face, to hug him, hold him close, and in the end I didn't have to watch him die! I cherish that dream. My brain was still anxious in the background, trying to scan for danger. Was he sick? Was this real? Was I dreaming or had I somehow gotten him back? Despite that inner confusion, the experience felt healing. I keep thinking about it and holding onto that incredible Carter embrace.

I never thought I’d say this, but thank you, dreams.

These changes feel like a sign of healing. For those with PTSD, nightmares can be common. They often mimic trauma and keep the nervous system locked in a loop of fear. The amygdala, the part of the brain that processes threats, can remain on high alert, even while asleep. I have spent years working with my therapist to address this trauma. It turns out my dreams have been tracking that progress, even before I fully recognized it myself.

This dream reminded me how far I’ve come. My healing is not always visible. Some days, it doesn’t feel like I’ve made any progress at all. Then something happens like a peaceful dream with my son and I realize that change is happening beneath the surface. This dream was sealed with a warm Carter hug that I can still feel. I feel proud of the work I have done to get here. I miss him every day, but I’m learning how to carry that love in new ways.

Healing may be slow, but it’s real. My dreams told me so.