After moving for the 15th time in 10 years, I came across some old dream journals that I began keeping because they were so bizarre, and I would remember them for days after having them. They never made much sense at the time but as I started waking up to a more conscious way of living they started making perfect sense. As I go through my journals (they are a little jumbled) I will note the ones that were easy to read and write down. Many of the dreams in my journal were written in the wake of a dream and I can barely read my own writing 🙂 Some of the dreams I would have were precog, and some were like a mini-series, where I would dream one part, and pick up the dream story the next day. This lasted about three days in a row and I would have mini-series every once in awhile. To date, I have a daily precog events, but in my waking state as opposed to my dream state.
I hope you find them as fascinating as I—enjoy and welcome to my world of dreams 🙂
WAKE UP CALL
Precog dream | November 2000 (going through divorce at the time)
In this dream, I woke up to the phone ringing. When I looked at the clock on my night stand the time read 2:00AM. I picked up the phone and there was a policeman on the other end, and said with a very heavy Irish accent, “We have your husband, he is in some trouble.” I asked the officer what he did and he replied “I’m sorry miss, I am not at liberty to say.” I asked several times if he could tell me what he did or how bad the circumstances were, but he just kept repeating, “I’m sorry miss, I am not at liberty to say.” This went on for a minute, and finally I responded with an aggregated tone, “If you are not at liberty to say than why did you call me? Can I please talk to him?” The office still refused. I then offered him a bribe with cookies and or lasagna (why lasagna I do not know), and finally he agreed to let me talk to him. My then husband got on the phone and said “Hey, I am in some trouble, I need you to help me, can you come and bail me out?”
With his comment still hanging in the air—”Hey, I am in some trouble, I need you to help me, come and bail me out” the phone rang, but this time it rang in real time. When I woke up to see what time it was, the clock read 1:59AM (one minute before the time on the clock in my dream). On the other end of the phone was my then husband, calling me from a phone booth (remember phone booths? lol). He said to me, “Hey, I am in some trouble, Sean (or C for short) and I were at the club and he took off with some girls and left me stranded without a ride home. I need you to help me, I need you to come and bail me out.”
[This was my first precog dream that I actually remembered and wrote down. I will never forget this dream, as it was so so real. Fifteen years later, and I can still hear myself trying to convince the Irish speaking officer with cookies lasagna . . .]
HOSPITAL CORRIDOR
Precog dream (the night before and the day of my Aunt’s tumor removal surgery)
In January of 2007, we learned my aunt had been misdiagnosed. What doctors first believed was an inner ear infection revealed itself, as her symptoms worsened, to be a terminal brain tumor. The family came together like families do. We prayed. Meditated. Hoped for a miracle. Surgery was scheduled. And the night before, I had a dream.
DREAM: I’m walking down a hospital corridor. Everything moves in slow motion, like time itself is dragging its feet. I’m headed toward the waiting room when suddenly the hallway goes dark. Every light cuts out. Emergency lights flicker on. Sirens erupt.
They’re so loud it feels like an attack.
Hospital staff come running toward us, urgent, controlled chaos. We’re being moved, quickly, to another part of the hospital. Safer, they say. As they rush us along, I grab onto a nurse’s desk. It’s strange—on one side, panic. On the other, stillness. A woman looks up.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“Just a precaution,” she says calmly. “There may be a fire in your section.”
My chest tightens. “What about my aunt? She’s in brain surgery. Will they move her? Is she going to be okay?”
She smiles. Nods.
“Yes.”
And I’m pulled away.
NEXT DAY AT HOSPITAL (in real time):
The surgery is underway. We’re in a newer wing of the hospital—you can still smell the fresh paint. About five hours in, I walk down to the cafeteria. When I come back, I see my two cousins—my aunt’s kids—walking out of the waiting room and down the corridor.
I think, huh… wonder what they know. I start to follow them—but instead, I turn into the waiting room.
And there they are. Sitting inside. The same two cousins I just watched walk away. My mind stutters. They look at me like I’ve lost mine.
“I just saw you both in the hallway,” I say.
Then it happens. The lights flicker.Everything shuts down. TVs. Air. Sound. Alarms explode through the silence. Orderlies rush in, telling everyone to calmly follow them. Just like the dream.
I stop at the nurse’s desk.
“Is my aunt going to be okay?”
Same calm.
Same answer.
“Yes. Just precaution.”
She survived the surgery. But a few weeks later… complications took her.
BEFORE THE TUMOR (back story):
About a month before she passed, I had just come out about my intuitive abilities—openly, fully. It didn’t sit well with my mother.
But my aunt? She leaned in. She was the first in my family to ask for a reading.
What came through… the doctors hadn’t seen yet.
Her son—my cousin—came through. The one who died at seventeen from a broken neck. I didn’t recognize him at first. But he came in loud.
Urgent.
“Robbie, Robbie—I’m Robbie!”
I repeated it back, confused. Who is Robbie? Then he started tapping the back of his neck.
“Smoke. Smoke. STOP.”
I didn’t understand.
Then—louder—
“RONNIE.”
That hit. That was him.
Once I recognized him, his energy exploded—like a firecracker finally heard. Then he softened. Showed me his siblings as children, frozen in the time he remembered them.
He kept tapping the back of his neck.
“Stop! Stop! Smoke!”
Love poured through him. Intense. Protective. Insistent.
Later, when it came time to give my aunt the details of the reading, I didn’t want to share. How do I tell her that her deceased son came through during a health reading.
So I didn’t. Not while she was at work. But she insisted I tell her. She did not want to wait.
Later, after her diagnosis, everything snapped into place. Ronnie’s message didn’t make much sense, until after the diagnosis.
The cancer had started in her lungs.
Smoking—her entire life.
It spread through her lymph nodes… and into her brain.
The largest mass? At the back of her neck.
Exactly where he kept tapping.
At the time, I thought he was identifying himself—showing how he died.
Maybe he was.
But now I know that it was more than that.
THE DAY SHE PASSED:
The night before, we were each given time alone with her. She was slipping away fast—didn’t recognize anyone anymore.
I held her hand. Told her she could come see me anytime.
I meant it, I said squeezing her hand.She squeezed back.
She passed the next morning around 9 a.m.
By 3 p.m., I was leaving my apartment to do laundry.
I opened the door.
And froze.
On my welcome mat sat an empty water bottle—upright, lid on—and a crushed pack of generic cigarettes.
No reason for it.
No explanation.
I closed the door immediately. My first thought—someone had been there.
Watching.
I waited a moment. Then opened it again and brought them inside.
And then it clicked.
Same water brand she drank by the case.
Same cigarettes she smoked—white pack, thin blue stripe.
I called my mom. Confirmed the water.
Called my cousin. Confirmed the cigarettes.
Both matched.
Exactly.
You can call that coincidence if you want.
I can’t. I won’t.
Rest in Peace Aunt K, I love and miss you <3
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