Variations on a Theme

The first dream I had about William wasn't too long after he died. I dreamed he was born alive, but then he died. In my arms, he breathed his last breath, and I sobbed and sobbed... and then, shockingly, he came back to life in my arms. He gasped and opened his eyes, and my heart burst with joy. Then he died again, just as suddenly as he had woke, he was gone. That was a heartbreaking dream.

The next dream I remember was a month or so later. In this one, he was born alive, warm and wiggling, crying and thrashing, he was placed in my arms, and then he died. His eyes went wide - eyes I never saw open, but I saw them clearly in my dream. He was in pain, something was being taken, and then he was, taken. Gone. Another heartbreaking dream.

The next dream I had about him was a few weeks ago. William was stillborn, they said, and they sent him to the morgue. But he wasn't dead. They discovered he was alive, and they gave him back to me. I carried him around, wrapped in his newborn blanket, and showed him to my sisters, my mother. "How is it possible?" they asked as they cooed over him. I don't know, I said. A miracle. Indeed. That was a miraculous dream. Until I woke up.

Just last night, I dreamed I was pregnant, very pregnant, hugely pregnant. My midwives were looking for a heartbeat and they couldn't find one. Finally, they gave up, shaking their heads. The baby was gone. Gone. This baby wasn't William, it was another baby, a different baby, my rainbow baby, and this baby, too, was gone. I sobbed and keened, wailed and writhed... and then, the baby moved. I stopped, holding completely still, holding my breath. It couldn't be. Could it? But there it was again... and again... and again! My baby was alive! My midwives felt my belly, frowning, sure it was my imagination, but there was a bottom, a foot pushing, clearly pushing outward... a miracle!

In those early dreams, the baby died. Even if he was alive for a moment, ultimately, he slipped away. In the latter two, at least, the danger is clear, but life prevails. My early dreams left me with feelings of loss, regret, guilt, sadness. My latter two dreams, though... I woke with a feeling of hope.

Hope.

It's something I haven't felt in long time. Something, I think, I haven't dared to feel. Especially consciously. I keep "Hope" at arms length when I'm awake. But when I'm sleeping...for some reason I can't consciously fathom...my subconscious is clearly making room for it. I don't know why, and I'm afraid to ask what role "hope" might play in my life, in my future.

Awake, I don't dare think. I don't dare hope.

But when I'm asleep...when I cross over into the place where thinking stops and images and feelings hold sway...things are changing. The landscape, once barren and burned black, has started to show small signs of spring.

Hope is a thing with feathers...  in my dreams, I think, I just might be learning to fly.