Got the oil changed and slept some more. More dreams.
In one, the grown version of the sister I helped in the earlier dream sees her father accidentally. He’s running for local office, and she sees him campaigning. She starts screaming that he’s a monster and child abuser. And that if her brother ever saw him, he’d flip out. The brother, it seems, was a promising violinist until his father destroyed his hands. Under a new name, he became a prominent composer but was forever angry that he could never play his own music.
The father had left messages for his kids for years. They never wanted to see or hear from him again, so the messages were never passed on. He never understood that anything he did was wrong, but he eventually was forced to drop out of the race. The girl’s PTSD was terrible, but she didn’t want her brother to know.
