Breathless, I climbed the last ladder stretching to the top story and pulled myself over to the wood floor. I scrambled about in the shadows and regained my footing to find yet another obstacle in my way. Stepping toward the closed door, I gripped the knob and abruptly pushed it opened. Horrified, I came face to face with the Blonde Woman from the cult. Locking her eyes with mine, she bore a hole through my soul with her cold stare. In disbelief, I stood frozen in the doorway, stunned that she had found the children and me.

 

Emerging from the dark her flaxen hair seemed to illuminate the space above her, revealing the wooden rafters in the attic. She stood erect in the shadows like a sentry on duty with her right forearm raised about waist high. In her hand she grasped a long silver blade that pointed upwards. Unyielding in her mission she summoned its power to intercept my path. Stunned, I sensed Kevin dangling from the rafters below her feet. Her relentless stare pierced through my heart, confirming her message. She had come for my son. In defense, I covered my eyes to break the spell while a desperate cry of denial came from deep within me. Peering through my trembling fingers, I exposed myself again. With one more look, she commanded the door shut, leaving me trapped on the other side. Screaming like a mad woman, I beat my fists upon the heavy attic door that separated my son from me.

                          

I rolled my head from side to side trying to shake away the image of the Blonde Woman. My arms thrashed about, as the bed covers slid from around my neck exposing my drenched skin to the chilly morning air. I gasped; my heart was pounding so fast it felt as though I had been buried beneath a stack of blankets during the night. My eyes opened wide with fear and then squeezed shut from the glaring hallway light. Squinting this time, I detected a slight movement in the shadows before me. Startled, I rose up on my elbows and craned my neck forward to see the blurry outline of my husband's broad shoulders as he slid his arms into a button-down shirt.

 

It was morning! I took a deep breath dropping my head back on the pillow, ever so thankful to be in my own bed again. Smoothing back the damp curls from my forehead, I rubbed my eyes to focus. "Stann," I mumbled, "I had this terrible nightmare about the kids; somebody was trying to take them away from me. I was running with them on the street, and...".

 

Everything seemed so clear just moments ago, and now as I tried to relay the dream it sounded crazy. Nothing I said seemed to convey where I had just been! I tried to say more, but all I could see were the Blonde Woman's eyes staring at me from the shadows.

 

Less than twelve hours later, my five-year-old son lay motionless on the snow-covered street. A truck had struck Kevin as he rode his new bicycle on the sidewalk past our neighbor's driveway.

 

"Kevin!" I commanded, "Mommy's here, Mommy's here!" Then, a choking, gurgling, sound came from his throat expelling more blood. His mangled body shuddered for the last time as he gasped for another breath. "It's too late!" I heard myself wailing. Draping my body over him, I cradled my sweet son to my breast and whispered, "I love you Kevin, don't go, don't leave me, Mommy's here!"

 

In that moment, Kevin died in my arms and with him went my life too.

 

Weeks later, after many numinous dreams and synchronistic events, I struggled to accept the validity of these messages urging me to travel a less traditional path. What I feared most about myself had come true. In one moment, I had lost complete control of my life and I did not know how to get it back. In this frightened state, I did not recognize the buoy of hope that God had given me to survive.

​

In my dreams I reconnected with a part of myself that had been forgotten. The seeds of knowing had been planted and left to push their way through the black soil of my unconscious. When I trusted my intuition to guide me, I could see beyond the physical and glimpse another reality that held guidance and wisdom for me. I had immediate access to that place every time I went to sleep. My dreamscape was planted with personal symbols and archetypes waiting to be harvested to feed my starving soul. This sacred garden had been with me all my life. Only now did I begin to appreciate its purpose in my life. To survive this tragedy, I would have to carve a path through this alternate reality. God had been speaking to me in my dreams. Dreaming Kevin was the path to my healing.

 

Copyright 2002, 2014 Dreaming Kevin: The Path to Healing