This happens. It used to happen constantly when I was very depressed. I would dream about people I know who are dead.
Last night I dreamt I met Wendy Wasserstein! While I was delighted to met her, there were family squabbles and such that made it unpleasant and there was a lot of "if you like them you can't like me!" stuff going on which was c.r.a.z.y.
Like dreaming about dead people isn't?
I used to dream about my mother and grandmother. They would beckon to me, but never, not once did either of them say a word. And I had these dreams almost nightly. So there was not a lot of wordy verification about what they wanted. My guess was that they were telling me I was next... which fit into my whole suicidal plan pretty dramatically. Funny how the brain works, huh?
Growing up, the Irish side was very big on the 'signs' and dreaming of the dead meant they wanted you to pray for them. I never quite got why they needed to be prayed for as they were already dead... but okay, what do I know.
Dreaming about Wendy Wasserstein, who was not Irish as far as I know, is more of a conundrum. Totally out of the blue. And it's not as if we were buds. But I did admire her. A lot. Her plays had a profound affect on the course of my life - I transferred into an all women's college to 'live' Uncommon Women and Others. Didn't quite work out the way I'd envisioned, but maybe I SHOULD have opted for Mount Holyoke. Damn the expense! Though realistically there was no way I could have afforded it. Oh well.
Dreams about the dead always leave me uneasy the next day. I know dreams are our sounding boards, our brains unfettered by self-censoring consciousness allowing us to delve into the things we need or want to do, or the things we are avoiding or unable to find solutions to. When the dead are pulled into the cast of the films of my dreamscape I always feel there's something more significant going on. So it nags at me. Nag, nag, nag.
Too bad it wasn't the flying dream again. Dreams. So fickle.