When I was young, maybe six or eight, my parents took me to see “Fantasia and The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.” For years after, I had nightmares of those darned brooms—dividing, dividing, chasing me.

That’s the earliest dream I remember clearly. And the beginning of a long life of dreams, both reflecting and projecting my life.

In the last six months, I began to dream of cell phones – missing cell phones. Usually, I am on a business trip, nothing traumatic. But when I go to call home, my cellphone is missing. I rummage through dense suitcases, briefcases, motel drawers, boxes at trade show exhibits, glove boxes of rental cars. Usually, I find nothing. If I do, the cell phone is ancient, some sort of flip phone with no charger.

And because it is so old, no charger can be found that works. This happens so frequently, that I consult Dr. Google. The symbol of the lost cell phone in a dream is common – it represents a break in communication.

Really? It’s so logical. I’m trying to call Ed who died in October ’2020.

Another recent dream. I’ve gone on a business trip, leaving the car in a parking lot. When I return, I can’t find the car. There are two dreams involved here. In one, I’m searching for my first business car—a gold Nova provided by Safeco Insurance. Turns out I parked it in a lot that is controlled by some minor gangster who sells off the cars. In the other dream, I park a car in the lot of the business where I work but never can locate it again. Of course, the lot is acres of cars as opposed to the reality of two rows of cars in front of the building.

Don’t even need to consult Dr. Google about the car dreams. After Ed died, I had to sell our car. I’m fortunate to now share sister-in-law Norah’s car that we keep at 1150, but there is still a feeling of loss.

Yet another recent dream--I’m on a trip to meet up with Mom, Dad, brother Jack, and my step-mother Mildred. It’s not uncommon for me to dream of Mom, Mildred, and Dad all alive at the same time. My Dad and Mildred married nine months after Mom’s death in 1969. I’m concerned about Mom, who is always lost in this mix. My brother Jack, deceased in 1996, was my emotional rock. I see their group clearly, but cannot reach them or talk with them as they lead me on a chase on escalators through a mythical shopping center.

And so, my psyche deals with loss. I’m actually doing well. More at peace than I’ve been in years. Enjoying my family, Ed’s family, my friends, playing bridge, working, reading. And dreaming is so much cheaper than psychotherapy.