In 1997-ish I dreamt about this man named Ben. He was a friend of my (now) husband, Rian. I met Ben several times and briefly chatted with him here and there. My husband used to have breakfast with a group of friends every Saturday morning for years, this man Ben was the center of attention. One night (a Friday) I had a dream I was in this kitchen I had never seen before in someone’s home, but it almost felt like one of those vintage, not much changed, church basement type kitchens. The door was swung open to the living room, there were people all there, men and women, etc… all almost soft focus in the background. I was next to the “island”, a tall, farmer’s kitchen table and on the other side of me was the old percolator coffee pot. I still remember the pale toothpaste yellow green of the kitchen. It looked like it had been painted and repainted over the years without the benefit of sanding or priming.

I felt like I didn’t belong there. It was odd but not scary. Until I heard a man’s raspy voice, “Hey kid, down here.” Ben is UNDER the high Kitchen table, crouched. “Don’t let ‘em see me’.” He says in his thick Boston accent. He looked like the Ben I knew, rail thin, short, with a shock of prematurely silver hair. I shut the swinging door carefully.

I asked him why he didn’t want anyone to see him. He looked at me like I was a little slow on the uptake. I then said something like, “Well, what is this place? Where are we?” He answered me with something along these lines (can’t remember exact words): “It’s my wake.” “Your WHAT?” “Sssh – you know it’s my wake. I just wanted to show ya.”

I was really shocked. I think I didn’t know how to react, and now I can’t remember any more of our somewhat brief exchange. He did get up from the table (after he said the wake thing he freaked me the hell out crouching under the damned table – by the way this was a couple years before Sixth Sense – when I saw that scene it creepily reminded me of this dream). He ended up standing next to me (we were about the same height – 5′ 4″ – he was a short Boston Irish guy)!

The door had a small square window in it like one on an old fashioned kitchen door. We looked through it and he was laughing and talking about how everyone looked out there, like, “look at all these mooks out here, you gotta get a load of this” type thing – which was the way he spoke. He was active in the AA 12 step community (I’m not) and he was very much like this with other people, busting their chops, criticizing other people, very ex-drunk (his own words) type behavior.

I woke up that morning really early, around 5AM and I woke Rian up as I got out of bed. I told him the story as it seemed wacky and I wanted him to tell Ben that morning at breakfast. I thought he’d get a kick out of it.

We eventually fell back asleep. We were awoken by the sound of the telephone after 6:30 by Rian’s ex-girlfriend and Ben’s best female friend. He spoke to her for a couple minutes, sounding somber, and thanked her, etc before hanging up. He turns to me and says, “You are never going to believe this.” “WHAT??” “Ben had a stroke in his sleep. He’s dead.”

(Unfortunately, this isn’t the only kind of dream where someone who died the same night came to me. Is it coincidence? Hmmm. I don’t know. Is it still creepy? Yes).

Oh and I went to his REAL wake. And it was in an old school funeral parlor, a full, huge, Irish Catholic wake. And yes, there was a flipping kitchen door like that adjunct to one of the rooms where the coffee was. And NO, I didn’t go in the kitchen! So I can’t verify it’s exact contents! (I would now though)!