When my dad died, there was something between us. Not major, but enough that it bothered me. For years afterward, I had semi-frequent dreams that he was in the room with me, but wouldn’t speak to me, no matter how much I begged. I always woke up crying.
Finally, years after he had died, I had another dream about him, and while he still didn’t say anything to me, he walked up and hugged me long and hard.
I never had another of the distressing dreams again.