Come Through Time
Dear Fellow Dreamer,
What mysterious old tales have become threads in the weave of your family’s history? Your life?
Because it’s October, I’m in the mood for sharing one. You may recognize the bones of this account from a previous version I posted years ago. But I’ve never read it aloud until now. If you like, just listen. Then be sure to check the bottom of this newsletter for updates and a few timely recommendations.
Story audio…
The Stranger at the Door
Fall, 1938. A young woman returns home from the Plummer Hospital in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, gripping her children’s mittened hands. Inside the house, the girl and boy play, barely aware of their mother as she moves through the rented rooms—picking up toys, preparing supper, clearing a space at the table, and avoiding the hall telephone.
Absorbed in their game, the children don’t hear the knock at the front door, or their mother opening it.
Out on the porch, in the twilight, leaning on a crutch that takes the place of his missing right leg, stands a bent and glinty-eyed man. He wears a uniform of sorts, a smock of pockets stuffed with serviceable goods—pencils, spools, thimbles, needles, sealing wax, envelopes, ink. The amputee holds a coin box.
Turning to find her purse, the woman nods. “I’m sure we can use something.”
“No, lady.” He’s shifting on his crutch, now. Leaning closer. “I’m not here to ask for money.”
She stops.
“What is it?” The man’s eyes catch the hallway light, two tiny fixtures aglitter on his irises. “Something’s wrong. You’re upset. Who are you worrying about, lady?”
Her cheeks are slippery-cool in the darkening air. “My husband.”
Through vapour clouds comes the story—how, last week, her children’s father fell ill with pneumonia. Now his fever has spiked to the point where, not only is he in hospital, “but at death’s door,” she tells the stranger—a door that will surely open if the fever doesn’t break. “An hour ago, the nurses sent me home to feed the children and try and sleep.” Wiping her face with the heel of one hand, she shivers. Can she speak the next words to him? That tomorrow might require all the strength she’s got left?
But the man isn’t looking at her. He just stands there, gazing at the threshold. “What floor is your husband on?”
She tells him.
“What’s his room number?”
She answers.
“What time do the nurses change shift?”
“Two a.m.” That detail she knows, from the notes on the stand by the hospital bed.
Peering at her again, the old soldier nods. “I’m going to call upon my doctor and ask him to pay a visit to your husband tonight. During the war, the same doctor saved my life.” Across his face flickers a faint grin. “If there’s to be any improvement, it’ll happen tonight. During the shift change.”
She touches the door frame’s edge.
“That is—” with a small hop, he glances down at his boot toe, then back at her, “if the nurse on duty isn’t sensitive. If she’s not psychic. And if she is, well, we may have a problem. But I believe my doctor can help your husband.”
~~~~~~~
Fall, 1978. The same woman sits with her two teenage granddaughters in her dining room, recounting this memory, which has become one of the cousins’ family favourites.
Their grandmother’s story always ends the same way. “Very early the next morning the telephone rang, and I answered. It was a doctor from the Plummer Hospital. ‘Good news,’ he said. ‘Your husband’s fever broke last night, and it seems to be staying down.’ Well, I was just about speechless. Before I asked, I knew the answer by the tingles down my arms. ‘What time did it happen?’ He told me the night nurse noticed shortly after her shift had begun. ‘Sometime just after two.’”
At this point, the older cousin straightens. “My mother always says that right after the man left—Gramma, if you’d gone back out to look for him, you probably wouldn’t have even found his footprints in the snow.”
The younger cousin remains quiet. Where had the old soldier travelled that night? Had a doctor really operated on Grampa from the other side? And what was the other side, anyway? Was it real? She opens her mouth. “If the night nurse had picked up on the doctor’s presence and panicked, she might have ruined the whole thing.” It’s the only way the thirteen-year-old can make sense of the stranger’s parting message—that in a healing such as this one, an observer’s intuitive ability isn’t a threat. The only real danger is fear.
Were the veteran and his physician still making their rounds? All the younger granddaughter knows for sure is that if her Grampa hadn’t pulled through in ’38, then her father never would have been born the next year. She likes to imagine they owe their lives to a stranger’s visit. Maybe even to a ghost—perhaps two of them.
Author’s Note
Was my Gramma telling us a tall tale? I don’t think so. And can our stories, including our dreams, be healing forces in our lives? Yes. That much I fully believe.
For all anyone knows, my grandmother’s visitation may have been a dream or an hallucination brought on by exhaustion and extreme anxiety. But does that make it any less real? And even after a memory spirals down through generations, bearing the embellishments that come with multiple voices and retellings, the story’s essence remains—true.
Delve into your family’s history and you’ll find tales as strange as this one. Moments when, if things had turned by even one degree, you wouldn’t be here. I consider anyone’s arrival and living presence in this world a wonder.
And I believe our stories and dreams hold gifts. That is, as long as we don’t let fear of the unknown block the way.
A Few Things…
This November, I look forward to sending you a series of letters on the power of our personal stories. Specifically, I’ll explore how the stories we tell ourselves, both consciously and unconsciously, have huge impacts on our lives. Sometimes for better, sometimes worse. But if we choose, we have the power to tell new stories. Ones that inspire and embolden us, and help us grow.
Coaching Update
Are you looking to create significant, positive changes in your life? This is an excellent time of year to get clear on what you’d love to experience, and your next steps. Fall is a natural season of transition—great for moving forward with powerful tools and customized support. As a longtime coach, I specialize in helping others find confidence, resilience, and success in the creative process—no matter which domain of life is calling for attention. I teach the art and science of building dreams. The individuals who work with me learn techniques for clarifying and crafting their unique vision. They discover and apply a proven system for transforming their results. Would you love expert help with moving into a whole new chapter? If so, send me a message, and I’ll do my best to schedule a complimentary call.
I believe building dreams makes wonder welcome in our lives. Here are some nice things people have said about working with me.
Wonders Within
My first talk, “Wings for Dreaming: How to Receive, Write, and Soar with Your Creative Vision” is now available for anyone who joins the paid track. It’s an immersive, 55-minute presentation for reflection, journalling, and discovery. If you decide to upgrade, simply go to Awakening Wonder in the Substack app and you’ll find it.
My second talk is now in the works, and for the price of a coffee and croissant each month, you can have an ongoing, immersive experience in gaining clarity on your vision, goals, and next steps—and be inspired to take action.
Please note the upcoming change of date.
Since Awakening Wonder is a work in progress, I’m learning to pace myself as I go. (!) Moving forward from here, most months, all subscribers will receive three Friday letters in a row. Anyone who pays to be part of the Wonders Within series will receive my talk on the fourth Friday. (I’ll let you know when I take short breaks from sending letters, though paid subscriber posts are guaranteed.)
And so, instead of going out on Sunday, October 27th, the next talk will go live on Friday, November 1st—just in time for the weekend, in that special Hallowe’en afterglow. I’ll be offering techniques for aligning your vision with your own sense of soul, weaving stories and poems fitting for this moment of the year.
The Arts: A Few Recommendations for the Season
Film
Often horror movies fall short for me, but this past week on Prime, I saw one I enjoyed and highly recommend. Nanny, written and directed by Nikyatu Jusu, earned the Sundance Film Festival Grand Jury Prize in 2022. Here’s the film’s trailer along with a description from Criterion:
“A spellbinding blend of social observation and artful shocks, the debut feature from Nikyatu Jusu plunges into the increasingly fractured consciousness of Aisha (Anna Diop), a Senegalese immigrant who takes a job as a nanny for a wealthy white family in New York City. Separated from her own son and casually exploited by her employers, Aisha finds herself consumed by unsettling visions and a growing rage—one that could either destroy or empower her. This visually captivating tour de force… distills complex ideas about motherhood, inequality, and cultural dislocation into a work of dreamlike dread.”
Documentary Series
This next recommendation does NOT fit with the Hallowe’en horror-genre category. However, the series I just watched does tell a haunting and beautiful story—one that’s left me both sad and uplifted. Directed by Mike Downie, The Tragically Hip: Ahead by a Century chronicles the journey of this iconic Canadian band. It’s a tribute to the group, its fans, and its late singer, “the poet,” Gord Downie.
Here’s the trailer and an article from Rolling Stone.
Reading
Laura Pashby’s Chasing Fog is literally and compellingly all about atmosphere. I’ve been reading her evocative essays and looking at Pashby’s moody photographs late at night—travelling through time, mist, mystery, history, and myth. Pashby’s work has an environmental message, too, since it seems that fog has been diminishing due to rising temperatures. If you seek enchantment in nonfiction, including tales of the uncanny, this is a rewarding read.
Do you have a mysterious story to tell? Any recommendations for listening, viewing, or reading in this spooky season? If so, be sure to share your thoughts in the comments.