Sweet Dreams

     
     Dreams are precious gifts. The messages contained therein can prompt me to take action, provide more information about a situation regarding myself or others, and offer comfort and support.  Occasionally, I am asked if I still have dreams about Michael, and although I would love to have more than the two or three per year that I do, I am grateful for the ones I do have. A few nights ago, it was a short and sweet one, but the dream before that was quite long and involved. In both cases, they were very realistic and easy to understand.
     The lengthier dream of a few months ago involved my husband and I returning to our car after an invigorating walk around Stanley Park. After both getting in, he slowly drove in the car reverse, against the one way traffic pattern of the road. We encountered many vehicles but no one honked - they all accommodated us by moving out of the way. In the next scene, it is just my three-year-old son and me near an outdoor shower at the playground. He is only wearing shorts, ones that an acquaintance had actually made, and on his sweet face is the sweaty glow from running around. I soon realize that in all his excitement he has accidentally pooped his pants, and that he is feeling both embarrassed and upset. I calmly try to figure out the best way to handle the situation but the overwhelming thought is that I am thoroughly unprepared, and how disappointed I am with myself about that. (When my children were young, I was never without extra clothes, bags, snacks, you name it - however, in the dream I had absolutely nothing with me). After some consideration, I decided to take off his pants and have him stand under the shower. What a mess. There was poop everywhere - on him, on me. I looked around and finally found a stray plastic bag for his soiled shorts and was now literally carrying a bag of shit. As I stood there, I could feel how upset he was. He felt responsible for causing this mess. As a mom, I knew that shit happened, accidents happened. I just wanted to pick up my naked son and carry him back to the car but before I could do that, the dream was over and I awoke with the clear understanding of his sympathy. Through this dream, Michael was expressing compassion for having left me holding this bag of shit, even though we both know it was unavoidable.
     The shorter dream I had on Friday night was set in a dimly lit restaurant where our family was gathered for brunch to commemorate the fourth anniversary of Michael's death. I was seated alone at one end of the table, lost in my thoughts. Suddenly, I looked up and there was Michael, aged twenty-five, walking towards me, handsome as ever in his grey suit, green shirt and tie. He sat down to my right, handed me a Caesar cocktail, and simply said, "Here Mom."  (The only time I might order this drink for myself is if one of my kids orders one, but even then, rarely). And then, he was gone. I instantly understood that this was his way of showing support and I sure was glad to feel his presence. 

     Sweet dreams .... until next time. 
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Uncanny Connection

New Year's Day ... what a wonderful start to the year.  My husband and I made the leisurely hour's drive to Squamish to view the multitude of eagles wintering there.  To be in the presence of these majestic beings is always awe-inspiring.  During our riverside walk, we witnessed dozens of eagles soaring, preening, squawking, and feasting.  Upon our return to the car, I took a chance and made an impromptu call to an old friend. It had been over a decade since we had last spoken, having lost touch after his divorce and subsequent move to another province. I had heard that he was remarried and now living here.  Well, he generously invited us over and ten minutes later, we were in his home.  Our relationship quickly picked up where it had left off all those years ago.  His wife was very welcoming and easy to talk to.  After a short time, I realized that she and I have many shared interests, including some of the same obscure book titles on our shelves. During the course of the afternoon, our friend revealed that his wife had also lost a son due to accidental death.  He too, twenty-five years old.  Uncanny that this woman and I also share the experience of dealing with this particular life-changing event.  So glad I made the call.  So glad they were home.  So glad to have renewed one friendship and opened the door to the beginning of another.

My Son's Birthday

January 8, 1986.  The day my baby boy was born.  So many thoughts and feelings swirling around in my head and heart today.  Carrying that little life full of potential.  Expecting him to be a her.  Thrilled to be wrong.  Easiest baby ever.  Such a loving and playful child.  Growing into a confused, risk taking teen.  So many ups and downs.  Becoming a young man attempting to find his way.  Spending his last birthday in the hospital.  Having again walked to the middle of the bridge the evening before.  Contemplating suicide once more.  Then picking up the pieces and finding resolve.  Optimism and hope.  Twenty-five.  For years the magic number friends and acquaintances were repeating. Assuring me that often boys did not begin to mature until then.  For Michael, celebrating twenty-five birthdays would be all that he needed. There would be no more.  Cannot begin to describe what it feels like to be observing this day without him.