After reading your dream story, I feel the need to share mine as well. I have never found the right avenue to word it out so I thank you for bringing everybody to a place like this.
Amidst the immeasurable pain my colleagues were experiencing during March of 2012, our school was set to put on a show that next weekend. I remember our dean saying that as artists, Evan would want us to continue creating and telling a story we set out to do.
Playing the parts that Evan had worked so diligently on was nothing short of a weighted task. However, it was my job to come in, do the work, and try not to make the process any more difficult for the cast that was missing a member of their ensemble. You could so easily see they were hurting every time my voice recited a line instead of Evan’s. But they held my hands with love and compassion—just as Evan was.
The night before the show opened, I was becoming very sad. I had busied myself with the work so much that I put my grieving process on hold. This was when I had the dream I am compelled to tell you about:
Our entire department was living in one community-like building. When I think about it now, it resembles a church I used to go to on Wednesdays as a child for free spaghetti dinners. From the very beginning of the dream something was wrong. The building was on fire.
Equally as frustrating as those dreams where you are walking unbearably slow, in this dream I could not remember my way out of the building. Probably because the building was never-ending, but every time I turned left or right down a hall—there was just another hall. I eventually took a right turn and the floor caved in on me dropping me to the bottom floor. I made a B-Line towards the front doors.
Surprisingly I was one of the first people to get there so I stood and held the door open for people as they were rushing out. There were a couple people there holding the doors with me, but I cannot remember their faces. I remember seeing Evan, I remember seeing his face so clearly in this dream unlike any other person. He was at the bottom of the stairs looking up at his insisting he needed to put the fire out. And then he walked away.
Immediately we were all the gathered in the parking lot outside our home but there were metal shopping carts crashing into us and each other like atoms. Not only did it hurt, not only was it impossible to get out of the parking lot, but the sound of the carts crashing into each other was a noise the made my hairs stand up. [It still gets me when I throw a shopping cart into the return lane at a grocery store].
The dream was nothing short of a miracle, because I had this new-found strength to help him finish the story he started with these two characters. From then on, I accepted the fact that he was with me the entire time, he was saying the lines along with me, and he was making eye contact with each ensemble member when the time came, whether they felt it or not.
Thank you for this avenue to share, and thank you for Evan.