I just had a brief but strange dream. In the dream, my older son Tony and I were driving to a dentist appointment. We turned off Henry Avenue onto Princess Street, like we were headed somewhere ordinary and important. Nothing felt strange at first. It was just me and my son, driving through the city, trying to make it to an appointment. For some reason, I pulled into a parking lot somewhere between Henry and Logan Avenue, right on Princess Street. I parked my truck, and Tony and I got out. We started walking down Princess toward Logan, but after a short distance I realized something didn’t feel right. The dentist appointment was still too far away. I remember thinking, Why did I park here? We should be closer than this. So I decided we should turn back, get into the truck, and park somewhere else. Tony and I started walking back toward my truck. Then, suddenly, something hit me. My body froze. I went into paralysis. I tried to call out Tony’s name, but nothing would come out. I could feel myself trying to speak, trying to reach him, trying to warn him, but my voice wouldn’t work. I was trapped inside myself. Tony was right there, but I couldn’t call him. Then I woke up. And when I woke up, Tony had an urgent low blood sugar. This is now the third time where I’ve woken up to an urgent low blood sugar that he wasn’t managing. The odd thing is, two days ago, I was at that exact same spot in real life. I had pulled over there to help an Indigenous man who was foaming from the mouth and behaving almost zombie-like in the middle of the road. He was in real danger. Vehicles could have hit him. Something in me couldn’t just keep driving. So I stopped and helped him get off the street. And now, two days later, my dream brought me right back to that same place — except this time, I was there with my son. Maybe the dream wasn’t really about a dentist appointment. Maybe it was about being a father, being a protector, and that sudden fear that danger can appear out of nowhere. Maybe the paralysis was the fear of not being able to act, not being able to speak, or not being able to protect someone in the moment they need you.

I had a dream where I was driving through the dark near my son’s school. The street felt familiar, but not completely. It was the kind of place you recognize in a dream, even when everything is slightly wrong. The night was heavy, and I remember not being sure where I was going. I was just driving forward, following the road, trusting something I couldn’t see. Then I saw a woman. She looked like someone I used to work with years ago. She had black hair, brown eyes, and pale skin. With her was a baby girl. The baby was white, with blonde hair, but there was something different about her. She wasn’t like an ordinary baby. She had an intelligence in her eyes that didn’t match her age. It was like she understood things before anyone explained them. I dropped the woman off near where my son’s school is now, except in the dream, it wasn’t exactly the same place. It was near where there are churches close by now, but in the dream, it wasn’t a church. It was a residential building. The woman went inside, but she didn’t come back. So I followed. The building seemed to lead downward, into a basement level, almost like an underground apartment floor. The deeper I went, the stranger it became. I started seeing people I knew. Passed-away family members. Familiar faces from different parts of my life. They walked by me as if I belonged there, but also as if I was only half-present. There were other babies there too. Then I saw my cousin who has passed away. He was sitting on the floor, watching TV. I spoke to him a couple of times, and for some reason it felt normal, even though I knew it wasn’t. I placed the baby girl on a mattress on the floor nearby, but she wouldn’t stay still. She kept moving. She kept crawling away. There was something about her that amazed me. She was only a baby, but she moved with purpose, like she knew exactly where she was going. So I followed her down the hallway. As I walked, I noticed something sticking out that looked like a weed. Without thinking, I pulled it out. But when I looked again, I realized it wasn’t a weed at all.

We may have fallen and had our wings clipped, but I wouldn’t call us fallen angels. We may live here on Earth, but I wouldn’t call us earth angels. We may have been through Hell, but we aren’t Hell’s Angels. We’re God’s Angels.

I woke up at 3:00 a.m. I scrolled on my phone until about 3:45, then thought, “It’s coffee time.” So I left the house and went out to my truck. The rain was still coming down, and the wind was still strong, but it did not faze me. I just wanted my coffee. I started up my truck and headed out. That was when I saw how many stalled vehicles had been abandoned on Concordia. As I drove down Concordia, I realized how badly flooded the road was. I do not ever remember seeing the water get that high before. Still, I powered through carefully, driving through the water and around the stalled vehicles. The streets were dead. Eventually, I made it to Tim Hortons and got my much-needed coffee. After that, I decided to check on my Uncle Paulo. I sent him a message, but I did not receive a response, so I drove by his place. His lights were out, so I figured I would be on my way. But then I noticed something a few doors down. One of his neighbours had a fire going under a tent. Immediately, I thought about a story my uncle had once told me about his neighbour, an Indigenous man who had passed away tragically. Something in me thought, “This must be a sacred fire.” I was intrigued, so I got out of my vehicle and respectfully asked about it. They confirmed that it was indeed a sacred fire for the man who had passed. I asked if there was anything I could do to help. They told me they were out of firewood, and that if I could bring some, they would be very thankful. I asked how many bags they needed. They said, “Three or four.” I told them, “I’ll see what I can do.” One of the men suggested I try the nearby Domo. The power was out there, so I was not sure if it was open, but luckily it was. Unfortunately, they were all out of wood. I thanked them and started walking back to my truck. That was when I saw an Indigenous woman walking alone. She looked sad. I tried speaking to her, but she just looked at me and did not say a word. So I handed her two $5 bills from my wallet and told her to go to McDonald’s across the street to get something to eat.

Yesterday was the same day I had the dream of the Devil. Later that day, southern Manitoba was hit with a powerful storm. My phone received over 40 tornado warning alerts. Strangely, the alerts themselves did not scare me. What concerned me was my son Tony. Tony was working at Concordia Village from 3:30 p.m. to 7:00 p.m. Shortly after he started his shift, the alerts began coming in one after another. By around the fifth alert, the weather started picking up, and I became worried about him. Around 4:45 p.m., I went to Concordia Village to check on him. When I arrived, the doors were locked. I tried calling, but no one answered. There was nobody at the front desk, and because the workers are not allowed to have their phones on them, it appeared that none of them knew tornado warnings were happening outside. I rang the doorbell about five times, waiting 30 to 45 seconds between each ring. No one came. I started getting frustrated and rang the doorbell around ten times in quick repetition. Still, no one came. Eventually, I kept pressing the doorbell until a resident in a wheelchair came to the door and asked why I was trying to get in. I calmly explained, “There are tornado warnings, and I want to see my son.” The elderly man seemed reluctant, which I understood, but he opened the door for me. I thanked him and told him how much I appreciated it. Once inside, I went toward the server area and asked a worker where my son was. She asked, “Who’s your son?” I said, “Tony.” She looked confused for a moment and said, “Oh, Anthony?” I said, “Yes.” The female server then called over her supervisor, a young woman who looked to be about 20 years old. The supervisors wore black shirts, while the regular workers wore burgundy. The supervisor approached me and asked what my concerns were. I told her, “I’m not trying to make anyone panic, but there have been multiple tornado warnings, and I need to talk to my son.” I then asked her why there was no way for me to reach my son during an emergency situation.