I pressed down harder on the wound, but the blood kept pouring from my mother’s chest. “Please, Mom. Don’t leave me.” I jolted upright in bed. My oversized T-shirt, damp with sweat, clung to my body. “Just a dream,” I whispered to myself. Only it wasn’t. It was a memory that I was destined to relive over and over. There were times when I wouldn’t have a nightmare for as long as a couple of months. But other times, they came every single night. It was usually in seasons of change or when there were other stressors.
