Deep Roots

A return to my homeland and the dream that showed me I'm ready

I’m headed to British Columbia tomorrow. My ancestral homeland. My grandmother’s birthplace. My mother’s childhood home. A place I’ve never been.

Canada has always glimmered like a beacon on the horizon of my deep past. I’ve long been curious about my many aunts, uncles, and cousins who live there. I’ve often wondered about my Indigenous great grandmother who was a midwife and a cook for all the cowboys, mused about the German horse thief who made his way west, had a strange affection for my mom’s childhood German Shepherd named John, despite the fact she was female.

However, these stories have become myths, and decades of estrangement have acted like canyons that started as furrows and grew and grew with the passage of time.

I thought these connections were lost, the family line broken, never to be repaired.

But I was wrong.

My mom died in November of 2024, and shortly thereafter, I got a call from my aunt. A Facebook message from my great aunt. A text from another aunt. Condolences, questions, kindness.

Maybe the line isn’t broken after all, I thought. Maybe there is a path to repair.

I heard from my great aunt last month that they’re having a reunion, to gather and to commemorate my mom’s passing with a plaque on the family monument near the ranch where they all grew up.

So, I booked the trip and I’m headed home.

A certain apprehension rose in my chest as I completed the arrangements for flights, a car, and places to stay. Once the checklist of logistics was all checked off, there was nothing left to “do” but feel my feelings.

Ugh. Here they come: fear, panic, longing, anger, shame, and most of all, grief.

The grief of not having known my people all these years. The grief of losing my mother to mental illness. Of my mom’s estrangement from her home and all the pain that led to her effectively losing her whole family. Her utter aloneness. The chasms that worked their way through the landscape of my family.

Anxieties about the trip take form in my mind: What will I encounter in Canada? Will I be overcome with grief? Will my relatives see my resemblance to my mother and reject me? How much of the old pain will I encounter? Can I handle the intensity of connecting with her family? Am I ready?

Enter the dream author.

I am driving a car in an unfamiliar countryside when suddenly I lose control of the vehicle. The brakes have failed and I can't stop the car. A boys’ summer camp is in the hills nearby, and I'm horrified that they'll get bowled over. I’m shouting out the open window, “Runaway car! Runaway car!” The boys hear me and take cover. I swerve, veer, make sharp turns and drive the car uphill to impede its momentum. Eventually, the car slows and I bring it to a grassy stop.

I see a large house. I go in and discover that it's some kind of commune. There are people in a spacious, busy kitchen talking. I am an outsider, but I am welcome. There is a working system here, and I know that if I stay, I'll need to pull my weight. I have to earn my place.

In the dream, there is an outside force that feels out of my control (the runaway car). I’m afraid that someone will get hurt (the children). There is generational danger. Likewise, the trip I’m taking tomorrow to connect with my Canadian family is somewhat out of my control. I don’t know what I’ll encounter. There is most certainly a risk.

Yet, in the dream I am able to manage the situation and ultimately avoid what I most fear (getting hurt or hurting others) by maneuvering quickly, thinking on my toes, and using the landscape to my advantage.

I realize that I have everything I need—in the dream and in my waking life—to manage this exciting and unknown adventure. Even if the “brakes fail,” I’ll know what to do.

Back in the dreamscape, I am instinctually drawn to this “home” in the hills. There is an unspoken invitation to join this commune (family). I have to “pull my weight” if I want to be a part of it, but essentially I do belong: I am an outsider, but I am welcome.

I talked about this dream in last week’s dream circle, and tears streamed down my cheeks as I recognized the deep longing for family that I’ve always harbored. Yes, I feel apprehensive about the trip—the pieces that feel unknown and charged with pain from the past—but this is something I’ve always wanted.

Family. Deep roots. A connection with the past. Knowing where I come from.

The anxieties become quiet. A vast sense of acceptance sets in. A certain faith in the Universe surges.

So, I’m off to discover the Canadian wilderness and the extended branches of my family tree. This will be the adventure of a lifetime.

There is a lot that is unknown. But thanks to the dream, I know this:

I’m ready.

Georgia Clay is a life coach, writer, photographer, and dream worker in Southern California.