What Do You Think It Means, Dr. Freud?
I’m currently in St. Paul for a couple of days, taking care of a few issues related to my mother’s estate. It’s my first road trip since knee surgery; I’m a bit slow afoot, but so far so good.
Yesterday morning, before driving up from Chicago, I woke in the middle of a very odd dream. It was my own Tom Sawyer moment. I was attending a big-time funeral in Tokyo: guestbook signing tables outside, a large auditorium filled with mourners inside. As I looked around me in the hall, I recognized many old friends and family in the crowd, people who had clearly traveled from around the world to attend the service: my middle school principle, old workmates, friends from Sendai. It gradually became apparent that this was in fact my own funeral–but I wasn’t dead. The priest began the service and indicated to me that I needed to come up on the stage to explain to all of these good people why they had been summoned to attend my funeral when I wasn’t dead. I had no idea why this had happened and felt quite awkward and apologetic about the whole mess. I woke just as I was to begin speaking to the assemblage.
So why were people told to attend my funeral even though I was apparently in the best of health?
