I had a terrible dream last night. This is significant because I rarely dream, and if I do, I never remember what happens, not with any clarity anyways. But today, I remember.
My family are standing somewhere on the beach, or in a parking lot near the beach. I’m thinking the Jersey Shore since it’s close, but it could have been anywhere. I see a large maybe 20-plus-foot black tarp (for lack of a better word) hanging down across the street, almost like a shield or a wall. I don’t know how it’s staying up. It stretches as far as my eye can see, with no chains or cranes or buildings or anything to keep it elevated. I don’t notice whether anyone else is around and I’m unsure what my family are doing there in the parking lot.
(Quick note: According to Smithsonian Magazine, “The biggest, baddest waves aren’t born that way. Winds at sea generate waves that average ten feet high; during storms, 30-footers are common.” I’m adding this note because I have no idea how high the black tarp was in my dream, only that it was tall enough for a huge tidal wave to top it.)
The first thing I remember in my dream is the throbbing, surging sound of water in the distance. Then it went quiet and I found myself looking up at the tarp to see the tip of what I assumed was a huge tidal wave soaring over the top. It came crashing down on our side of the wall, sweeping us away as if we weighed no more than a feather. I don’t recall the presence of my family or where we washed up. Yet, somehow, when we landed, we were still together. But then another wave came, and it tore us apart. Again, I have no recollection of my surroundings, not even the water. I found myself—holding my son—inside a building of some sort. I don’t remember any of its features, only that it was compartmentalized. I began screaming my husband’s name over and over, hysterically turning my head this way and that, until a man walked over, grabbed hold of my arm, and led me into another room, where I found my husband cradling my daughter. Both were unharmed.
The next thing I remember is the building slowly tipping to the side and floating down the street—with us trapped inside. I don’t know if other people were around or what the world sounded like in that moment. I only recall meeting my husband’s eyes and sharing the pure terror I saw mirrored within them. We drifted there, side by side, clutching our babies and praying we would find our way to safety. I can offer no details for what happened next. All I can tell you is that we survived—again.
At that point, my dream flashed to a new scene, this time in what appeared to be a grocery or drug store because I remember we were sitting at the end of an aisle. The building must not have been whole or intact, though, because there was no wall facing us. We could see directly outside straight to the black tarp—our only barrier from the ocean. As we were sitting there, our children started shivering. I remember a man—whose face I cannot see—brought us a blanket to cover ourselves against the cold. Well, I assume it was cold; I have no recollection of the weather. I have no recollection of anything, I guess.
And then we heard another roaring surge of water and watched in horror as another wave came crashing over the side of the wall, right toward us. We huddled together under that blanket—crushing our poor babies to our chests—and waited on pins and needles for a fatal deluge that never came. Water rushed in and swelled all around us but somehow, some way, we were protected behind the endcap of that aisle. I remember feeling such disbelief and relief in that moment. I’m even writing this with tears in my eyes … I’m sure you can imagine the rush of emotions flowing through my body in my remembering: fear, panic, deliverance, even elation and awe at escaping death yet again.
The last thing I remember is standing next to a car and hearing my husband shouting that we must put the children into their car seats. I have no idea why. It wasn’t like we could hop in the car and drive off. We were surrounded by miles and miles of water. I screamed back at him: “No, no, we must hold our babies to keep them safe!” So, we grabbed the kids from the back seat and ran back to our spot behind the endcap before another wave could catch us off guard. (I remember hearing my son complaining as we pulled him out of the car. I don’t know what he was complaining about, but I recall thinking, “Wow, even in the midst of a raging flood, my kid still finds a way to moan and groan, LOL.”)
Then I woke up, heart pounding.
I immediately recapped my dream to my husband. The details were so clear, which is a rarity for me. While I was retelling this horrible nightmare, he looked up what it might mean. According to a website called “Dream Bible”:
“To dream of a tidal wave represents problematic life situations or uncertainty that threatens to overwhelm you emotionally. You may be experiencing a high degree of stress or emotional drama. You may also feel swamped by unfamiliar situations, obstacles, or unwanted changes. You may be struggling with a rough situation such as a divorce, illness, financial loss, or unexpected change. Huge forces of change or unstoppable events. Feeling unable to cope or that you are going to be “swept away” by a big change.”
This description is very telling considering the state of the world in which we are currently living. I know what my “problematic life situation” is: I’m having a hard time with the idea of sending my children back to school in September amid all of the uncertainty and fear surrounding this damn pandemic. My son’s situation is far easier. He’s still in preschool and because it’s optional, I’m fine keeping him home for this last year. He’ll simply start kindergarten next year, right on time and no harm done. My daughter, on the other hand, is set to begin first grade and that, to me, is so important. She needs to be at school, in person, with her teachers and friends. She does not and will not thrive on homeschooling. We learned that the hard way earlier this year when schools were closed, and we were put on lockdown. But, oh, my fears of illness and COVID-19 and cold/flu and all things respiratory are herculean and that is the crux of my issue. I don’t know what to do or where to turn or who to listen to and it’s like a tidal wave bearing down on me.
Still, I find immense comfort in my dream, believe it or not. Because there must be a reason that through it all my family remains together, stays strong, and survives. And I don’t mean in a “oh, well, that’s because my family doesn’t need anyone else but ourselves” kinda way. No. Anyone who thinks that way is full of BS. But I’d like to think it means that my husband and I have created a safe, secure foundation for our family through which we are able to use our combined strength, determination, and love to fight against any and all odds thrown our way and not only survive but thrive. That we will always, always find a way to persevere together. That’s pretty much been our motto since day 1—it’s even engraved on the inside of my engagement ring: “Hand in hand, my love.” Love is a damn powerful force, and I believe it can and will conquer anything.
It feels daunting in this moment but I’m confident we will figure out the school situation and make the decision we believe is best for our family. We’ve never shied away from conflict or uncertainty before and I have no desire to start now. For now, the important thing is that we’re together, safe, and healthy. And as long as that holds true, we remain a force to be reckoned with.
A tidal wave, indeed.