Order of the Good Write

That Magic Feeling When the Words Flow. A Blog by Debi Rotmil

What a Dream


rwdreams2I wanted to write this down so I wouldn’t forget.

I had a dream about Robin Williams last night. A very strange, sad and haunting one. And it went like this:

Through some type of circumstance, I became friends with his daughter Zelda, who invited me to her family home to celebrate Thanksgiving dinner. In the dream, it was explained that her family usually held a pre-Thanksgiving get together the day before in their home – somewhere, followed by the actual holiday celebration in their other home – somewhere else the next day.

Strange of location, familiar distorted territory. That was the first home. It seemed to be in the middle of a forest that was in the middle of a city. Robin approached me, all smiles, yet he was silent – hanging back in a haunted way. He proposed a toast, and then disappeared behind a door to a room that was like a little shack in the middle of this outdoor area. We didn’t see him for a while. He was a thought – a person who existed in another room and we couldn’t see him. His family was around. His second wife was there, talking to other people and her kids. Everyone knew that his absence was usual. They shrugged their shoulders and continued on.  I felt a sadness. Perhaps due to me wanting him with us – outside that disembodied room with the door.

His youngest son hung out with me. He seemed really cool. So weird that any of this stuff would enter my mind. I don’t know his kids, never even imagined it. Perhaps their faces from red carpet photos and the AT&T Park appearance during the World Series permeated my mind. It feels inappropriate to have them in my mind. Like their presence in my head is an invasion of their privacy.

Then, the next day came. Thanksgiving. Daylight. Robin appeared out of this room. He looked dapper in a dark coat. He wore a bright green scarf with matching green hat and gloves. He approached a driver who was waiting to take us all to the next location for the main dinner. I saw him. Then I turned to one of his kids. Then I turned back to him. He was gone. Only his green hat, scarf and gloves were left behind, crumpled, lying on the floor. He had dropped them. I picked them up, wanting to find him to give them to him – but he wasn’t even near. Everyone around me accepted it.

Dreams. Weird.


Author: Debi Rotmil

I'm Debi Rotmil. I'm the author of the book "Hitting Water: A Book of Stories" and founder of The Good Write. I work in finance, write, eat, walk the dog, write, blog, jog, spin. I work everyday to try and change the world in my own way.

4 thoughts on “What a Dream

  1. We were at 142 Throckmorton last night and it was strange to think that there was no chance of RW dropping by to try out some new material—as he had done so many times over the years. There must be something in the air being pushed by the oncoming storm…

  2. I dreamed of him a couple nights ago, but when I woke and tried to record the story… pft.

  3. Oh, I hope you remember the dream, Maggie. If you can, please share it!

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