Joe didn't appear to me in human form like I envisaged; he answered my questions in a dream. I woke up with mixed feelings because Joe's response elicited both joy, surprise, anxiety and fear in me. Besides that, my second dream that night was totally bad. It was not new to me, yet it was still scary. It was the dream about mom's baby dying.
That would be like the third or maybe fourth time I would see mom in my dream, with a baby in her arms but she looked sad and tears streamed down her face as she stared at it because the baby in her arms was no longer breathing.
I was not the type that dreamed. In fact these dreams would be my first ever since I was born. They were spectacular dreams, and I was not as confused as I thought I'd be, because the two dreams were interwoven. In my last letter to Joe, I had asked him what the significance of his white pouch was-the small bag he left in my room before he passed away. It had taken him a while to reply me. Probably he was trying to decide
