Kate has a beautiful post over at glow in the woods. The piece in its entirety is worth reading (go there, now, and read it if you haven’t already). In describing some of the strange and marvelous community of babylost parents, of the sharing and storytelling taking place at glow and online, Kate writes:
We’re all so different – what we went through, the point from which we began, what we believe. And yet in your voices I hear the thump of my own heart.
First of all, yes. And I wanted to add here that I’m so grateful for all of you that I’ve met on this journey I didn’t want to take. For your warmth and compassion, for just being there sometimes. For knowing or recognizing what it’s like. I owe you a large chunk of my sanity, and if I get through this year (and the next, and the next) with any smidgen of grace, I owe a lot of that to you, too.
Secondly, Kate’s post reminded me, suddenly and powerfully, of one of the first dreams I had after Teddy’s death. I’ve never been able to dream about my baby, or if I have, none of those dreams have been held by my memory after waking. But about a week after I found glow in the woods, I dreamt that I was in a huge, slightly rickety, house built all of wood – carved wood, wooden planks, teetering wooden staircases. I was moving into this house, without my Teddy, who even in my dreams is dead, and I was heartbroken.
But the house was inhabited by women, lovely and strange and varied. Some I could see clearly – their eyes, the swish and fall of long or short hair, and some were shadowy and blurred. But they helped me move my things into the house, helped me sweep sawdust out the doors and over the edge of the porch, and invited me over for coffee. And I knew in my dream that they were all like me, all missing their babies. It was written all over them, even the ones I could barely see. At night, we found our way up and up to the house’s attics, and we rummaged through closets and among boxes, looking for our children, but finding other things instead – old wedding dresses, long-lost artwork from our own childhoods, strange wooden musical instruments…
Even though I couldn’t find Teddy, this dream was a comfort. I don’t subscribe to any one theory of dream meanings, but I think the comfort I felt upon waking came from relief that my little family isn’t alone even though no one near us quite understands what we are going through.
Have I mentioned that I’m grateful?