When I was 7 years old, my maternal grandfather died. He had been sick with Parkinson’s disease all of my life, so I never really knew him except that he couldn’t move or talk very well. At the time, I didn’t know how hard he had made my mom’s life growing up, but since learned. The day of the funeral, I was standing next to his body when my aunt told me that if I touched his hand, he could never visit me in my dreams. I was young and scared of dead people, so I touched his hand. Somewhere along the lines there I ended up touching it twice. Or three times? Oh no! I kept touch him over and over, trying to make an even number, but worried that I had touched him an odd number of times, or vice versa, and that he would come to my dreams and scare me. I think this is where my OCD started too.
Anywho, this year my mom got a psychic reading and her father came through. He explained so much, and apologized so deeply for what he had done. He told her that he was protecting us and watching over us.
Since the day he died, I have NEVER seen him in my dream. Ever. And I was always sure it was because I touched him the right amount of times. So, it came as a surprise when I dreamed about him last weekend:
We were in a room, with guys from my school, my age, in their 20s. There was a race going on. Each person ran a very short track, indoors. When it was finished, they announced the winner. They said “The winner is C.U. (my grandfather)”. I looked up, and saw him, wearing a jogging suit, with shaggy dark hair. He had won, but he bent his head, and walked out of the room, instead of celebrating. He wanted to show us that he wasn’t proud of himself, but that he was working hard to do his best. People around said “Wow, weird, how old is he?” I said that my mom is 55, so that means he is in his 70s. They were all pretty impressed that a man of his age one the race, against the younger people.