What dreams may come
I don't tend to remember dreams. I used to say I don't dream, and then I learned that we all dream, but unless we wake up at the right time in the sleep cycle, we don't remember what it was we were dreaming about. So now I use scientifically correct terminology-- I don't tend to remember dreams.
The times I have dreamt of A? That I remember? I don't even need one hand to count. And never have I seen him as an infant, either the way he looked when he was born or as an alive one. Since I am by nature not an easily guilt-ridden parent, this does not usually cause me angst. I don't even know if I ever felt envious of the bloggers who have had these vivid live baby dreams-- the practical side of me kicks in right away with the "how hard it must be to wake up from a dream like that."
The times I have seen A in a dream? Well, a number of times before he was born. When I owned up last year to knowing he wouldn't be staying I left one thing out-- the dreams. I saw him in my dreams, a couple of times, while I was pregnant with him. Never as an infant. Always as a little boy, always in a distance, with a full head of curly hair, never looking at me, always running away. If this was a part of a storyline in a book or a movie, I would roll my eyes. Too much, too thick, too manipulative. But, as Mark Twain famously noted, fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities. Truth-- not so much.
A was born with curly hair. Tiny little waves of hair, perfect little squiggles, all wet from the birth, all over his perfect little head. And in one of the only dreams I remember from the weeks after, he was still running away, but this time he stopped and turned his head to look back.
My boys are different people, I am sure of it. Was sure of it the whole time, from before I was ever pregnant with the Cub. (Though who can really say how much of this surety is a pushback against the idea that a living baby fixes the grief and the griever-- one of my absolute favorites, that.) And even if I wasn't convinced of A being distinct from any future baby just on general principle, there would still be the part where he was running away from me in the dreams. That's not to say that I think that bereaved parents who believe that the souls of their children who are gone come back to them are wrong. I am, as with so many things in this grief world, agnostic on this. For other people. Not for myself. My boys are distinct.
And actually, since I was so sure that if we were to have a living baby it would have to be a girl, I considered the whole question, as it relates to me, purely theoretical. I think I was even a bit smug about that in the privacy of my own mind. Obviously that is not how it went. Though now that it went, now that I am getting to know the Cub, I am ready to attest with even more conviction-- they are different.
Except... Except that once in a while I think back to this other dream I remember from the early weeks. Well, "remember" is a bit strong there. The dream that was capital W Weird. Spontaneous human cloning-- oh yeah, baby! I dreamt, as far as I can remember, because it became hazy within minutes of waking up, that there were some cells left of A's placenta, and that at some point one of them went all pluripotent and created another, genetically identical pregnancy. This is both bizarre and absurd. So much so that I think I knew even in the dream that I was, in fact, dreaming. I certainly knew it the very moment I woke up (behold the power of years and years of my not entirely wasted edumucation). In the end, though, after I dismissed the literal scenario of the dream, in the end I had this unmistakable feeling that there was something tangible, something physical left. Even if I couldn't touch it.
Curiously, this dream happened only days before one of the handful of dead baby bloggers I was reading at the time posted about the research that showed that fetal cells can enter mother's bloodstream and remain there for at least 27 years. Physical indeed.
So what about you? Do you remember your dreams? How much attention do you pay to them? Do you dream about your dead baby? Do you want to?
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Reader Comments (22)
Later, she would appear again, but I could never see her face. In the dreams where I knew it was Charlotte, I was always aware of how amazing this was that she was there with me. There was almost a conscious effort to stay asleep and keep dreaming, lest I lose her again. I dreamed these dreams mostly in the first year.
One dream that I have always remembered was one where a version of myself, about nine years old, was swept away in a crowd, a stampede of sorts, on a dusty Mexican road. The adult me watched helplessly, groping and grasping to try to make my way through the crowd as I saw her being swept away. I could not reach her. I sat down in the dirt and cried. Two friends laid hands on my back, shrugging their shoulders. Oh, well, they said. At least now you know what happened to her. When I woke I imagined that my subconscious was seeing Charlotte as a miniature of me.
The last thing I will say about dreams is that the real recurring dreams that I have which are "about" Charlotte is that I constantly dream about drowning. Charlotte died during my labor from a cord accident, which occurred when my water broke. Somehow, my little, struggling subconscious has equated her asphixiation at this moment to drowning, and my dreams follow suit. Every other month or so another one comes, usually one of my living children, somehow submerged, and I am trying to save them. I never get far enough into the dream to actually complete the rescue. But they drown over and over again.
(Needless to say, in real life, they are both enrolled at the YMCA in swimming classes and will probably never be allowed in a boat of any kind)
More than anything, I wish I could really, truly dream of Charlotte. I wish I could experience her in a dream. I wish she'd just be there, to be a big sister to Liam and Aoife and for me to hug and kiss and do something normal with. I'd like to make her scrambled eggs, and try to scrub a grass stain out of her pants, and to tell her not to pick her nose. I'd like to tuck her into bed and make her laugh. I wonder if those kinds of dreams are just, well, dreams.
I used to pray that I would dream of Noah. Now, I have accepted that this is not how he speaks to me. Sometimes, though, I still close my eyes and hope for a glimmer of him.
I say I have difficulty sleeping but the truth is I mainly avoid sleep until I'm so tired I won't awaken. I don't recall dreams because I quash them with an iron fist.
these days it would probably kill me to dream of her. i expect to start having the positive-pregnancy-test dreams soon...those really suck. luckily i wake up continually from a sore be-hind (pio shots).
today, i daydream.
I've only had one dream of Maddy, and it was a nightmare, and had to do with medical people asking me for more medical information (in the dream, I essentially birthed her, and watched her die, twice). I often wonder why this is, and why it's hard for me to even imagine her here now like so many seem to confidently be able to do. I think it's because she was born with so many problems that living -- growing -- opening her eyes -- running -- walking -- laughing was a complete impossibility. My subconscious seems to have accepted that totally. She will forever be frozen as a six day old infant with a multitude of medical issues, and I guess my subconscious finds that particular dream a bit grim.
I don't carry much guilt either, but sadly my dreams (and daydreams) before her arrival never extended much beyond her actual birth and the surrounding weeks. I was so mentally and physically exhausted from being pregnant, and knew that actually having her was the only chance I'd get at having an excuse to lie down and my husband to stay home from work. I wonder if something in my mind actually knew not to run this tape forward.
That's about the time I woke up. I literally didn't stop crying for days.
I'd give quite a lot to hold him again, even for a minute, even in a dream.
I have had 2 dreams in that time. The 2 sweetest dreams I ever did have. I long for more.
last fall, though, about a year after i found out i was pregnant with the baby i m/c, i dreamed that i was in the backyard of my childhood home, with two little boys who were my sons, clearly my sons...but in no way Oscar. (like you, i have always been sure that my boys were different). there was a flood in this backyard, and the boys, one a toddler, one a baby, were playing around a picnic table we sat at and suddenly i realized they were drowning. i threw myself under the picnic table and i still remember the feel of their little bodies in my hands, slippery, me desperate. then i woke up. and i wondered, for the very first time, if my lost ones had come to me in my dream.
But as I blogged about recently, mostly I dream of other babies...at my breast, in my lap, at my feet....hopefully Ezra's sibling on his or her way...at least one day.
Margaret- there is nothing greedy about a mother wanting to hold her baby one more time. I think it would have to be the natural feeling in the world. I'm so sorry that last moment has left you with such disturbing memories- that is so unfair it is beyond words. I'm so sorry.
I would love to have one happy dream, where she appears as perfectly healthy as she appeared while we were at home.
I certainly daydream continuously.
It's William's birthday today. He'd be 5. And even though I knew it was coming up, certainly my thoughts have been elsewhere the last few days. Then last night, I had a dream about having a baby. Small baby. (About W's size when he was born at 27 weeks) I was alone for this birth process and couldn't remember what to do. And I was tired. So, I put him back. Back through the birth canal. For safe keeping or something. And then I went to sleep. The next morning I reazlized he wasn't moving anymore and then I realized I'd accidentally killed him. Smothered him. I was trying to keep him safe and killed him.
The dream puzzled me this morning. Then a few hours later, I realized it was his birthday and it made a little more sense.
I can't even say for sure how I feel about this dream. The feeling I had wasn't one of desperate grief. It was of pure stupidity. As in "DOH! Bec! Why did you think that was a good idea. Of COURSE he can't breathe in there once he's born!"
But, since the only place I held him alive was inside me, it makes at least a little sense.
I have not had any dreams of him being alive. Only dreams of loss. And plenty of them.
"What are you doing," I asked.
"I can't find her", he said.
"Who?"
"Charlotte. I can't find her anywhere." Then he lay down, and continued to sleep. I stayed awake for a very long time.
"What are you doing," I asked.
"I can't find her", he said.
"Who?"
"Charlotte. I can't find her anywhere." Then he lay down, and continued to sleep. I stayed awake for a very long time.