The In-Between
Three dreams that never really left me.
Let’s talk about dreams.
Not the kind you forget five minutes after waking up, but the ones that stay with you for years. The ones that feel so vivid, so strangely real, that even decades later you can still replay them scene by scene.
For me, those dreams happened when I was between seven and ten years old. They're still surprisingly clear in my memory. Every scene, every feeling, every unsettling detail. I have a handful of them, and to this day, I can't explain why they've stayed with me.
One dream in particular haunts me, simply because of the atmosphere. It wasn’t a nightmare with a clear message or a deep, symbolic meaning. It was just strange.
It took place in our old house, swallowed in pitch darkness. The only light came from the bedroom and the faint glow of a lamp along the walkway outside. My grandmother was in the bedroom, getting ready. She was dressed in her black floral top (the very same one I still keep in my closet today) paired with brown linen trousers. Her hair was styled in that familiar, loose curly bob, and she carried that distinct, powdery scent that only grandmothers seem to have.
As she finished, she pinned a small black brooch to her blouse. The kind traditionally worn to symbolize mourning.
I asked to go with her, pleading because I didn’t want to be left alone in the dark house. But she was adamant. She told me, quite firmly, that she couldn’t take me because she was heading to a funeral. The moment she stepped through the bedroom door, she vanished into thin air.
Panic hit me instantly. I turned and scrambled toward the stairs, heading toward the kitchen, but the darkness down there felt heavy and suffocating. Before I could even take the first step, I felt the floor give way. I fell. You know those dreams where you fall and your whole body feels it? That kind of fall.
But instead of hitting the ground... I landed perfectly on pointe. Suddenly, I’m a ballerina dancing with a group of others in tutus, still wearing my pajamas and pointe shoes. I have absolutely no clue why, but it remains one of the strangest dreams I've ever had.
Another dream I can't quite shake is one I can barely remember, yet the feeling remains crystal clear. We’re standing in the garden outside our old house, the one with the fountain in the middle. It’s a real place, which somehow makes the dream feel even stranger.
There, our neighbor approached me and told me, with terrifying certainty, that I was going to die. I was only eight years old. Imagine the absolute, paralyzing panic of hearing that at that age. Panic set in almost instantly. Somehow, I became convinced that if I didn't wake up soon, I would actually die inside the dream.
Then something even stranger happened. I became aware that I was dreaming. Not fully lucid, just... aware enough to know that my body was somewhere else.
My consciousness began to split. One part of me was trapped inside the dream, while the other was desperately trying to wake up. I could feel my physical body reaching for me. I could feel my eyelids trying to open. But I could still see the dream. It was as if both worlds were happening at once, and I was caught somewhere in between.
I don’t know if I was shouting out loud, but I realized that panic was only anchoring me deeper into the nightmare. I made a conscious choice to calm down. I squeezed my eyes shut, forced myself to breathe, and tried to ‘merge’ with my physical body.
When I finally opened my eyes for real, I was gasping for air. I was crying. I was drenched in sweat. I could barely move. I immediately woke my grandma, who was sleeping beside me, convinced that I had just escaped death. All I could think to ask for was a glass of water.
The final dream that left its mark on me was the one that felt less like a dream and more like a premonition.
At the time, I was my grandfather’s primary caregiver. He had survived his third heart attack, but by the time he was revived, his brain had gone too long without oxygen. The doctors told us his condition was unlikely to change. He was awake, but not truly present. His eyes were open, but he no longer recognized any of us. He couldn’t speak, either. It felt as though the man I knew was trapped somewhere inside a body that could no longer find its way back.
Every night, I slept on the floor beside his bed. One night, I had the dream. Like so many of my childhood dreams, it took place in our old house. I don't remember how it began. I only remember seeing my grandfather lying inside a casket as it was carried through the house.
The strange part was that, somehow, both my dream self and the part of me that knew I was asleep knew that he was still alive. And yet, inside the dream, he looked at me as if he had already accepted something I hadn’t.
He told me he had been gone for a long time. It was time to let him go.
I remember clawing at the casket, desperate to open it, but it wouldn't budge. It was sealed shut. All I could do was press my face against the small glass window and look at him. I can still remember the overwhelming certainty that our time together was running out.
When I woke up, I immediately got up and checked on him. He was asleep, his frail body resting on the bed. I stayed there for a while, just watching him.
A month later, he passed away.
I’ve always believed that dream was more than my subconscious trying to make sense of what was happening. Maybe it was preparing me for a goodbye I wasn’t ready to say.
Sometimes my dreams play cruel tricks on me. The moment I realize I'm in a nightmare, I pry my eyes open, relieved to see my bedroom around me. For a second, I think it’s over. But the room feels... wrong. Not obviously wrong, just enough to make my skin crawl. Maybe the lighting is off. Maybe the air feels unnaturally still. Then I realize I’m not awake at all. I'm still dreaming, trapped in a version of my room that isn't real.
Funny enough, there were even times when my dreams had sequels. I’m not kidding! I'd dream the first part one night, wake up, go about my day, and then the following night, the dream would pick up exactly where it left off.
I've also had dreams where I couldn't scream, couldn't run, couldn't do anything except watch everything unfold. Somehow, those are always the ones that stay with me the longest.
So, those are just a few of the dreams that have left the biggest mark on me. There are plenty more that I can still recount almost scene for scene, as though they happened yesterday instead of years ago.
I’ve always been fascinated by them. Whether they’re simply our brains weaving together memories, fears, and emotions, or whether they’re something more, I honestly don’t know. A part of me likes to believe they're windows into something we'll never fully understand.
What about you? Have you ever had a dream that stayed with you long after you woke up? One that left you unsettled, emotional, nostalgic, or wondering if it meant something more? I'd love to read about it in the comments. ⏾⋆.✦ ݁˖
Weirdly enough, my sibling and I had the same dream a few months apart (neither of us told the other). That was incredibly strange... I also had a very very vivid one right after my grandfather passed where he was talking to me and telling me everything was going to be okay. I loved that one :)
This was fascinating! I love hearing people’s most memorable dreams. I write mostly about dreams if you’re interested :)