Project Say Something: Weirdest Dream Lately
Funny story – I was actually going to post about the dream when I had it but if I would even think about it, I would get all teary-eyed and emotional and just couldn’t bare to think about it.
Here’s the thing with my dreams: I hate them. They’re all too real. Every one of them. It’s like I feel – in real life – what I am feeling in the dream. The fear, the love, the happiness, the horror, the sadness, the disgust, everything. It’s all there in me as I dream it. So when I wake up… Let’s just say my husband and I have had to have multiple talks about how “It was just a dream! It wasn’t real. It never could be! Get over it already!” When I dream it’s like I don’t get any sleep at all.
So I hate them. I’d rather not remember them. Or better yet, not have them at all. The year after I had Madeleine, I was so tired and getting such random, sporadic sleep that I was lucky enough to not remember my dreams (if I had them). It was the best sleep (without ever getting any!) ever.
And so…
I had made friends with the Angel of Death. His name was Ian. He was young, charming, funny, good-looking and gay. (No idea why my dream thought that was important.) He came for my sister (who by the time he had taken her had morphed into an old friend from high school so it wasn’t SO sad) and I was devastated. I went to her and warned her and told her he was coming. Of course I begged him not to take her. He did anyway. But what he had failed to mention is that at the same time he was taking my sister, he was taking my baby too. So all my energy was caught up in trying to save my sister and poof! there goes my child!? Well that was bad.
Then the devil gave her back. He did! Perfect, happy, healthy little baby walking down the street to me. How could I have been any happier? ‘Til the devil himself shows up and tells me it will cost my soul to keep my child. Bastard!
I cried and cried and cried. And then I thought about it. Ian, the lovely Angel of Death who now looked like evil, demon, Buffy-monster (actually, I think my brain made him look like Darkness from Legend), told me to do it. I told him to go to hell and stay there this time and this? such a bad look for him.
I considered this “offer” very carefully. And I realized, no. She’s a baby. She’s innocent. She dies, she goes to heaven no matter what “the devil” does. I sell my soul and more than likely, he gets 2 for the price of 1. No thank you. He can have me, but he is NOT getting my kid if there’s anything I can do about it. Besides, I’m sure he’d give her back just to make it even more awful than her dying the first time.
I wrapped her in her blanket, put her down on his table with some pink book that I had taken much care to wrap and keep with her (??? Kid doesn’t even have a baby book. No idea what my subconscious is doing there – guilt for not having a baby book maybe?), hugged her, kissed her, told her I loved her and stepped back. She said, plain as day, “I love you, Mama.” I cried, patted her and woke the holy freaking hell up because good lord! What a HORRIBLE dream. I let my child die. What kind of mother??? What kind of mother even in her dreams does that? I woke up with tears streaming down my face, trembling, barely able to breathe. Even now thinking about it I get really emotionally wrapped up in it and it has been weeks since this dream.
Like I said, I hate them. Each one is all too real. I can almost always tell myself in the dream that it *is* just a dream and everything is fine. But it’s the ones that really mess with me I have no control over, I can’t wake myself up, I can’t tell myself it’s just a dream. This was one of them. And seriously? Devil – Heaven – freaky demons*. My brain needs a vacation.
*No, I haven’t watched an episode of Buffy OR Angel OR the X-Files OR well…. anything in months. It wasn’t some residual crazy monster episode of the week hoopla. This is just how twisted my brain is. All by its little self.