Shortly before my mother passed away, she described a vivid dream she experienced one night that prepared us both for what was to come.
In the Tennessee mountain town where she and I were born, the vacant old Imperial Hotel stood frozen in time as if passing years dared not touch it. The brick, three-story building next to the train depot was built in 1909. Weary rail passengers would enjoy a good meal, then relax, before bed, in the rocking chairs on the balcony, feeling the cool air as it whirled around the mountain. The Imperial boasted 30 rooms and indoor plumbing, which in 1909 was quite extraordinary in the hills of Tennessee.
When I was a small child, the old hotel was a magical place where I could imagine myself as a traveler on the Tennessee railway or attending a gala in the main ballroom. However, in the late 50s, the passenger trains redrew their routes and no longer dropped travelers at the depot just below the hotel. As a result, the Imperial closed its doors to guests, and silence filled the halls.
The once-thriving resort town and tourist destination withered. All other inns and hotels succumbed to the ravages of time. But the Imperial stood fast, determined not to be forgotten. It was as if she was still waiting to greet her visitors when they walked through her doors once again.
“Lynn, I dreamed I was at the Imperial last night,” Mother told me one morning. “I was in the foyer hall alone, and the doors to the ballroom were locked. I heard a band playing and people laughing as if they were attending a fine party. I wanted to join them, so I knocked and then banged on the old wooden doors. The noise inside grew louder, and my attempts to be heard were useless. I began to weep with frustration because I desperately desired to see everyone, but I could not. I woke up this morning with the dream still fresh and found my pillowcase was damp with tears. So strange.”
When Mother passed away a few months later, we took her home to the little mountain town to rest beside Dad. A day after the service, I drove toward the Imperial and wondered if I could somehow get inside. After parking my car, I found, to my surprise, the front door was unlocked, and I discovered I was alone in the building.
Old wooden doors were opened to reveal a large room perfect for hosting a huge celebration complete with a band. But unfortunately, the hotel was void of sound. Yet, I could feel the beat of the music as I envisioned my parents dancing as they always loved to do.
While standing among the spirits still alive in the Imperial, I understood how Mom’s dream prepared us for her departure from this world. In the end, Mother was ready to join the others who waited just beyond the doors to eternity. Her frustration was over.
We are sent images and messages of eternal life all the time. Either we decide to pay attention to them or ignore them completely. Usually, when we don’t trust what we hear or see, we deem ourselves more intelligent than the Divine, proving that we aren’t really very intelligent after all.
People call these images and messages different things. Some call them God-Winks. Others say they are bizarre coincidences or even hogwash, but I call them gifts. Precious connections to unite us with God and those we have lost from this life. They remind me of a small present tied with a satin ribbon. Once you untie the bow, the box reveals glimpses of forever.
Today, the depot near the hotel is now a museum run by its cultural administrator, a young man new to the area. Mr. Cleary fell in love with the town’s history and the under-3000 people who call Monterey, Tennessee, home. I met him for the first time when I visited a few weeks ago.
He had just purchased his first house.
“Where is your new home?” I asked. After a brief conversation, I knew exactly where it was.
It was the house where I was born.
I looked up to the hill just beyond the depot to the old brick Imperial and smiled. There was no music flowing from the rooms, nor sounds of laughter, nor trains that stop to deboard weary travelers seeking rest. Yet somehow, the magic that makes life whirl like the wind in the mountains reminds me that we all remain connected to the past, to those we love, and not even death can stop the dance.
Sometimes, when we are caught up in the noise of life, it is vitally important to become quiet and listen to the music just beyond the doors.
