My older sister passed away in May 2015. There were just the two of us sisters in my family, and we had always been close. When my birthday rolled around in November of that year, it was the first birthday I would celebrate without her. No celebratory dinner, no funny card, no little gift, none of the traditions we’d always honored on each other’s birthdays for decades. As the day approached I felt bereft and alone, even though I knew my husband would be there to celebrate with me. My grief still felt very new, very raw. The anticipation and dread weighed heavily.
There I am, waiting for my shampoo to begin, when my sister emerges from behind the curtain at the back of the salon.
The night before my birthday, my sister appeared in a dream. Here’s what happened:
I was at the hair salon for the usual shampoo and cut. But instead of my regular hairdresser, one of the professional dancers from Dancing With the Stars was running the water and getting ready to wash my hair. (My sister and I both liked watching DWTS and had our favorite pros, and one of them was this guy.)
Mark is not a hairdresser
So there I am at the hands of a dancer, not my usual hairdresser, who in real life is the sweet guy who gave my sister a short spikey cut when she started to lose her hair during her chemo treatments. The two of them posed for a picture. In it, he leans over her, tattoos showing, big smile.
She is already looking frail, but smiles bravely, showing off her new ‘do. 
Having her show up at the salon, in a dream world anyway, kind of makes sense.
One thing about my sister: in addition to working a few days a week in an office, where she wore many administrative hats, she belonged to several volunteer organizations. She went to elementary schools and read to young children; she volunteered to “deadhead” the roses at a local rose garden; she pulled weeds in the garden at local Children’s Fairyland—the inspiration for Disneyland; she handed out meals at Project Open Hand, and she ushered at local theatres. She was one of the busiest people I knew, always going to see a show or an art exhibit or to hear some kind of live music. She traveled whenever she could, either alone or with friends. No one could match her pace or her passion to keep moving.
Back to my dream: There I am, waiting for my shampoo to begin, when my sister emerges from behind the curtain at the back of the salon. Naturally, I am surprised to see her, because, well, she couldn’t really be there. I had to ask her, “What are you doing here? Aren’t you …”? I couldn’t say it out loud.
She smiles and says, “I just wanted to check up on you.” I suspect she is there to wish me a happy birthday, but she doesn’t say it.
“Um, how are you?” I ask. She looked great: her hair had grown back and looked really pretty—kind of a short bob, which was always my favorite hairstyle on her. Sleek and neat, it framed her face nicely and was fuller than normal. She seemed to have gained back some of the weight she had lost during her illness. Always skinny anyway, the disease caused her weight to drop way down; she had reacted with dismay at each appointment’s weigh-in. I kept track in a notebook as she inched closer to eighty pounds near the end. In my dream, however, she looked healthy and fit. I don’t remember what she was wearing, but I could tell anyway.
I will never forget her answer to my question. To this day, it still makes me laugh.
“Oh,” she says, “I’m great. Doing a little volunteer work, you know. And if I get tired, I just rest. It’s fine.” And that was it. She went back behind the curtain.
The next day was my birthday. She spent part of it with me after all.
Risa, this is a lovely story. We have learned about your sister in a few of your earlier stories. So glad she came back in your dream to be with you for your birthday. And how wonderful that you remember it so vividly. Did you write it down at the time, or did it just stay with you because it was so meaningful?
Thank you, Suzy. Yes, after I told several people about this dream, I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget it. This prompt was a good excuse to take it out and look at it again.
What a lovely dream, Risa. So sorry about the loss of your sister, but I was glad to read about her returning to you in this dream. I have told one of my granddaughters who was so upset when my mother, her beloved Bubbe, died, that she would stay alive in her memory. I think of my mother often and dream about her being alive and doing some things we loved to do together when I was a child like baking a cake. Your image evoked that for me.
I love the image of you baking cakes together! Thanks so much, Laurie.
Risa, this is lovely and I feel your pain.
Five years ago my kid sister Laurie died at age 61 after a long battle with MS.,
At the end of her life she too weighed well under 100 pounds and it was heartbreaking watching her waste away.
I wrote about Laurie at the prompt Caregivers.
I too often dream about my beloved sister.
❤️
Dana, thanks so much–and my sympathies to you on the loss of your sister. Heartbreaking only begins to describe what it’s like, doesn’t it?
I was so moved by your story, and writing. That your sister fully inhabited her life, and impacted positively so many others is amazing to me. For me when I have a “visit” dream, or a “gift” dream I realize I am held by more than I understand. Beautiful!
Thank you–and yes, that is a perfect description of the way she lived.
What a moving story, Risa — I almost don’t want to comment because it’s so pure just as it stands. A dream about someone we love who has passed feels like a visit, and I believe it is. Your writing is so vivid I feel like I was there in the beauty salon to witness it, maybe the next shampoo bowl over. Thanks so much for sharing this with us!
Thank you so much, Barbara.
Risa, this is just beautiful and perfect for this prompt. You have written about your sister before, but you’ve sketched a vivid picture here; what a vibrant, lovely giving person. I am so happy that she visited you on that first birthday so you were not alone. Her memory obviously continues to be a blessing for you. Thank you for sharing her with us.
Thanks, Betsy.Yes, her memory is indeed a blessing. I think about her every day.
I love this story, Risa. It must have been comforting to visit your sister, or actually have her visit you, in this dream. Our loved ones indeed become part of us through memory, and in many cases, dreams. I’m glad this happened for you.
Thank you so much. I’m glad it happened too. That first birthday without her was going to be so hard, but having her show up to “check in” made it much better.
Really nice story, Risa. Sorry you lost your sister too soon. I’ve also had dreams where loved ones reappear, which is sometimes comforting.
Thanks, Edward. It was comforting, and still makes me smile to think about it.