I was paralyzed with grief. I woke up, got a drink just to clear my head. When I fell back asleep I went right back to the awful dream, trying to will myself to get through each day after losing my precious little boy. When morning came it felt like I’d lived and mourned through a 1,000 lives. I couldn’t stop crying this morning. Couldn’t stop hugging and staring at Rhys. Couldn’t stop thinking about how gutted I felt in the dream. How it was so real and seemed as if I had lost every limb.
It felt like the dream was some sort of payback for how angry and frustrated I’ve been at him this last week for being a crabby crabberton all the time. Confession? Last Friday night I could not wait to get out of the house to visit one of my best buds solely because I had spent the whole day with Rhysie-the-Grouch. There’s nothing like an awful dream of losing one’s child to put things sharply into perspective, eh?Makes me a feel a whole new level of compassion for those who have lost children –of any age. If that has been you, I am so sorry. So very sorry.
In the rarest of cases…like say, 3 out of every 300 dreams, my dreams come true. The other 297 evenings I have the most evil dreams with the most sordid plot twists that would make even the best Horror-Genre Screenwriter jealous. Basically, dictating my dreams to be turned into Horror films could be my side hustle. I am convinced only the devil himself could inspire the content that fills my dream state on many nights.
I was curious though, so I asked Dave if he thought maybe God was preparing us for Rhysie developing childhood cancer. He says no.
Even more so when I told him that last night I also dreamed I single-handedly delivered Mariah Carey’s twins.
Let’s just pray for peaceful sleep tonight, shall we? =)