It’s been over 9 months since my son died and not once have I ever dreamed about him. Last night all that changed, I finally had a dream about my baby boy.
In the dream I was home with my Mother. We were talking about something and then suddenly I noticed something behind her. It was my beautiful perfect son,,,, alive. He was sleeping and had these amazing long eyelashes (like I have).
I couldn’t believe it.
“He’s alive Mom, he’s not dead,” I said to her. I couldn’t stop gazing at him, looking all healthy and alive. He had a pinky glow to him. The kind of coloring that living babies have (which is much different than the coloring that dead babies have). I was joyful and this huge wave of relief spread over me. He wasn’t dead after all. He was alive. And this whole terrible tragedy had just been a terrible dream. He was alive.
I wanted to reach out and touch him. But then I shifted from one dream to another. In this one I remembered that he was really dead.
I had seen his lifeless body.
I had picked up his ashes from the crematorium.
I had read his post mortem report.
Surely all these things wouldn’t have been possible if he was alive.
So I crashed back to reality, while I was still dreaming.
I woke up this morning with tears in my eyes. Happy for a glimpse of him I suppose, but sad that the only time I will ever see my son alive is in my dreams.
He’s dead, and I don’t want him to be dead. I want him to be here with me. I miss him so much.
*Originally posted in June at my blog Finding My New Normal.