Cinderella Had It Wrong

Have you ever had a dream that was so clear, so detailed, so horrible, or so wonderful that you couldn’t put it away from you? I have. Mine are usually horrible, which would make them nightmares rather than dreams, I suppose. Only once have I had a dream stick with me that was neither wonderful nor horrible, but so captivating that I woke in the early morning, and wrote it down. I am not a big believer in reading too much into dreams because if my dreams were truly prophetic, either I or someone I dearly loved would have already met a bloody end, or I would be forced to conclude that I am, in fact, a loon. Night before last, I had what can only be described as a nightmare, and like the sky yesterday, it greyed my day. I thought I was freed this morning until I picked up Micah, and held him in my arms. While I can still recall childhood nightmares with clarity and the feeling of horror as some tragedy took my parents away from me, none can compete with my first nightmare in which I played the role of parent.

I was deep sea fishing off the coast of California with Brandon, Micah, my parents and select members of my extended family when large meteors began raining from the heavens. The ship’s captain immediately began heading for shore so that we could find shelter. We all headed for the basement of our condo as buildings, vehicles and people were obliterated. In my dream, Micah was old enough to walk and talk, seeming to be three or four years old. I encased him in my arms while we hunkered down. He looked at me and asked, “Mommy, are we going to die?” I remember the feeling of nausea as I answered, “I don’t know, baby.” Just then, a meteor flew directly over us to crash only a few hundred yards away, taking our condo with it. We all lay exposed to the threatening sky. I looked around at those I loved, and said, “Just in case we don’t make it, I want you all to know that I love you very much.” Out of the corner of my eye, everything was ablaze, then all went black.

My skin was covered in a clammy sheen when I awoke. I had to remind myself where I was and that I was the mother of a three-month-old, not a three-year-old. I concluded that my dream was not to give me a glimpse into the future, but a glimpse into myself. And I like I what I saw. I was afraid, but I did not give into panic for the sake of my son (and because I knew my destination). When I was given the choice between what was easy and what was right, I chose right. I did not lie to my son. I told him the truth. Then, I was able to bid a loving farewell to my family. If death was our fate, they went knowing they had my love, and I went having had the opportunity to tell them so. In a way, it was beautiful, but mostly gut-wrenching. I hope that now I have “written it out,” I will be able to give a goodbye to the somber and somewhat fateful feeling it has given me.