July 29, 2011--What Dreams May Come

My friend Lori has had some very strange, sometimes meaningful dreams since her son, Bo, died on May 18^th.  She shares them with me sometimes, and I’m baffled by them most of the time.  I’m also a little bit envious because she dreams of Bo so often.  I’ve only remembered a few of my dreams since Max died, and only two of them starred him.  It’s not a great feeling waking up from these dreams, but I love them because in my dreams Max is alive.  I’m usually holding him at some point, but there is also a lot of trauma and tragedy in my dreams.  I hope that I’ll keep having them, but I hope that they’ll be more consistently happy.  I hope at some point that I’ll have a dream that involves only holding him, kissing him, and taking care of him.  I could do without the other stuff eventually.  I’m not going to attempt to analyze my dreams; their meanings are obvious.  I miss my son, I want him back, and I would do anything for him.  I’m traumatized, I’m sad, but I’m also full of love for him.  Here are my dreams…

The first dream I remember having is incredibly bizarre.  A friend and his wife had come over.  She had just finished working out and was wearing a tank top with a built-in sports bra.  She leaned over to hug me, and I was horrified to notice that her underarms were full of long, dark hair.  I hugged her anyways, but the image stuck with me.  I woke up wondering why (name removed) didn’t shave her armpits.  This dream came to me the night after Max died.  I was pissed at the time.  I wanted to dream about Max, not some woman with hairy armpits.  How dare she invade my dream like that, I thought to myself.  I kept that thought to myself, but I did share the dream with other people.  I don’t know why I’m even sharing it here other than to show you a side that you probably don’t think about when it comes to grieving parents.  The side that wants every moment, even sleep, to be consumed with thoughts and memories of her baby.  It’s frustrating when they aren’t.

The next two dreams that I remember involve Max.  They don’t just involve him; they are completely consumed by him.  The first one was a few days after Max died.  Most people probably don’t know this, but we saw Max one more time before he was cremated.  Our funeral director, Nancy, got him all ready for us to do a private “viewing.”  I hate that term because it was so much more than a viewing for us.  It was important for us to have this opportunity available to a few special people:  Scott’s parents, my parents, my sister, and Scott’s brother.  Scott’s brother never met Max.  We skyped a few times, so I’m glad for that.  At least he got to see Max breathing and healthy before seeing him cold and lifeless.  Scott’s parents also hadn’t seen Max in a few weeks.  Betty actually came back the week after we brought Max home from the hospital because Ethan got very sick.  He was too sick for me to take care of his needs and the needs of a new baby at the same time.  As always, Betty swooped in and gave us more help than we could have asked for.  I wonder now if that sickness didn’t come on for the simple purpose of giving a loving, doting grandmother more time with her precious grandson.  Neither Scott nor I were totally sure that we would go back in to see Max.  We had seen him before the “transport” company took him to the morgue, and that memory was absolutely horrible.  I won’t share the many reasons why; let’s just say that it is the absolute worst thing that any parent could experience.  Our family members went first, and each one assured us that we would not regret going in to see Max one last time.  Scott and I spent a long time in that room, and I don’t regret any second of it.  That memory is private for me, so I’ll keep it to myself right now.  It was beautiful and healing, though.

Anyway, my first dream of Max came the night before we were scheduled to go see him at the funeral home.  In my dream, the private viewing is at a hospital for some reason.  Someone walks me back to the room where it is to take place.  Max is covered in a sheet on a table.  As I move closer to the table, I see the sheet move.  I lurch forward and uncover him.  I discover that he is breathing.  As first, I think I’m crazy, but then he opens his eyes.  I stare at him for a few moments, my heart welling with happiness and hope.  Then I turn and run to the door.  I call out for a doctor to come help me.  A doctor runs over, and I explain to him that I think Max is breathing.  He shakes his head confidently and says, “Oh yes.  Babies can go up to three days without breathing.”  I don’t remember anything beyond that.  I hope there was another half of the dream that involves me taking my living baby into my arms where he belongs.  I hated waking up from that particular dream.  Max’s death was still very recent, and I woke up with a feeling of hope every day, which was quickly dashed when I realized that Max was really dead.  I woke up feeling very hopeful that morning, understandably.  So the realization of the truth that morning was especially painful.

I had the second dream last night.  Do you understand why I’m frustrated now?  I went almost 7 weeks without remembering or having a dream about my baby.  I hope that I’m just not remembering them, but that really doesn’t make me feel any better.   In my dream, Max is alive.  I am returning to work, so I have to leave Max in someone else’s care for the day.  The plan is to leave him with a woman I know who just had a baby in real life.  The woman did not have a baby in my dream, and she is absolutely not capable of doing what she did in my dream.  I feel bad for her that she is the “responsible party” in my dream, but I don’t plan on sharing that with her.  In my dream, I get all ready for work.  I am very nervous about leaving Max.  I don’t want to leave him at all.  I tell the woman that I am only working a half day, so it will be kind of like a trial to see how Max takes it.  I go on to work, and I return a few hours lady.  The woman and Max are gone.  I call everyone I know, trying to find out where they are.  I start to get nervous.  I finally get in touch with someone who tells me that this woman has kidnapped Max and does not plan on returning him.  Her reason for kidnapping him is that I didn’t take good enough care of him.  I try calling this woman’s dad, who is a police officer in my dream.  He is supportive of his daughter and her crime.  I spend a large portion of the rest of the dream trying to locate Max.  I am frantic with worry.  I am so mad that this woman has taken my baby.  I’m hurt that she thinks I didn’t take good care of him.  I know that I did.  I keep pleading with people to help me, and they do.  I eventually find Max and this woman.  I yell at her and chastise her for taking my baby, who I am madly in love with, away from me.  She gives Max back to me.  I hug him and kiss him over and over.  I take in his smell, the look in his eyes, and every detail of his face.  He smiles at me.  I tell him that I love him repeatedly.  And then I woke up.

I woke up to Ethan lying in bed with us.  Scott reminded me this afternoon that Ethan had come into our room very upset late last night.  He was crying.  He said, “Max is crying.”  Scott tried to explain to him that Max was not crying, but he was insistent.  “Max is crying.  Go help him!”  Scott helped Ethan get into our bed and got him back to sleep.  I guess I wasn’t the only one dreaming of Max last night.