Often, and she hated it because she felt powerless on top of her grief; it got so bad she prayed they would stop. Say what you like, but they did--with one exception of which I am more aware than I would like. Once when I was rooming with moondog she called long distance and insisted they wake me so she could tell me about a dream where she was in a hospital and a doctor explained that I had died. She was very scared and worried on the phone and said she wanted me to be on my guard because the doctor said I had been stabbed in a manner, location and circumstances where I would not have expected it. To say I did not heed her warning would be an understatement, but I still have a scar about a quarter inch from my jugular where a crackhead stuck one of the kitchen knives in me a week later in the living room after asking me to pray for his family (easily the stupidest moment of my life; I literally cannot list all the additional warning signs I consciously ignored that day).

Again, take it for what it is worth, but she also insists she had another dream. People were surrounded, herded and chased by monstrous lion headed flying things, and screamed in agony but did not die when the creatures drove barbed tails through them. People fled in terror before one only to run toward another, but they still ran solely to gain a moments respite. You may recognize the similarities with this; mom says she never read it until years later and only then thought she knew what she had dreamed. Maybe she simply forgot having read it before, or heard retained a subconscious memory of someone talking about it, but when she told me about it in the context of the many relatives who died within a month of her dreaming they would, it stuck with me, and her later dream about me only reinforced it. These days when she tells me she had a nightmare about me, I listen; if nothing else, it does no harm.