I have a difficult time sleeping. If you look at the time stamps on my blogs, you will notice that they are usually posted in the early morning hours. This isn’t because I am one of those “morning people” who are ready to go at 4 a.m. It’s because most of the time I have something in me which I must get out. Sometimes, it takes all night to get there.
Last night, I had a dream. Because of my persistent insomnia since Bea died, I usually don’t remember my dreams. So the fact that I recalled this one was kind of fabulous. I miss dreaming.
My dream was as follows:
My husband and I were walking through a building with a lot of hallways and rooms. Maybe a school. There was a cafeteria, and we made plans to go and eat there. I told him to go on ahead, because I needed to change my shoes.
I had a bag with all types of shoes in it. There were so many shoes in the bag. A normal female would cry from the sheer happiness of having all these shoes available. The bag was kind of like a Mary Poppins bag too- the shoes just kept coming. There were sneakers and high heels and ballet flats and tights and socks- just all of the accessories your feet could want. I was overwhelmed with the choices.
They were all so beautiful.
I had to have them all.
I kept trying on these different shoes- but none of them matched what I was wearing.
It became frustrating.
I was also trying on the most outlandish combinations - like these kicky high heels with woolen knee socks.
Really? High heels with wool socks?
So.
I am trying on these shoes, and I am watching my husband through the window if the cafeteria. He is waiting for me to come and join him. His profile is to me. He can’t see me watching him, but I am.
I am trying my hardest to hurry up and find some shoes to match what I am wearing, but it’s taking a long time. I am worried that he’s going to be angry (you know how men get when we are trying to find just the right pair of shoes).
As I’m watching him while searching for the perfect fit, I can see by the expression on his face, that he’s not getting angry. But his shoulders are beginning to slump. He has no food on a plate in front of him- and I am sure that he’s hungry by this time.
He is sad.
Disappointed.
Alone.
And here I am, worrying about what types of shoes will look best. What type of shoes fit me?
I woke up before I found the right shoes.
My husband was already gone to work.
I knew immediately what the dream was about- the message that my psyche was sending me.
As a clarification, I don’t believe in charms and fortunes and horoscopes and messages written in the stars.
I do believe our dreams are an outlet to deeper feelings we may have, which we may have trouble clarifying in everyday life. Our nonsensical parts act out the drama in our subconscious mind, helping us to think things through in some outlandish way which would never make sense in real life.
My dream was about the “action” portion of my grief.
This blog is not the only “project” that I have begun since Beatrix died.
I have helped develop and help run a website dedicated to supporting moms who are carrying babies diagnosed with Limb Body Wall Complex.
I am a member of a very active Facebook group for moms who have delivered with this defect complex.
I am working on presenting a perinatal hospice bill to the state senate, in Beatrix’s name.
In addition, I am toying with the idea of establishing a non-profit in Beatrix’s name, to help people who choose to carry to term with medical bills (we would hate for anyone to choose termination because of the cost of carrying to term- which can be quite high.)
I also personally support other moms with this diagnosis.
For the last six months or so, I have devoted at least an hour every night to searching out other moms who have given birth to children with this defect complex- hoping to connect us all.
I haunt Baby Center, What to Expect, and all of those other baby boards, waiting for a mom who has just received the diagnosis. Steering them towards our group and website.
I am also working on establishing a miscarriage and loss memory box program for our local hospital.
That’s a lot of shoes. And not all of them fit well with the outfit I am wearing.
The outfit which says wife and mom.
Shoes are supposed to be an accessory. Not the main event.
(And yes, every once in a while, you find a pair of shoes that you build a look around- but I don’t know if I want my entire look to be built around this aspect of my life. This action portion of the grief I feel.)
So, I think I am going to take some positive steps in finding the perfect shoes for me.
There is so much I want to do, and so many shoes seem to fit so well- but if they don’t match the rest of the ensemble, fit doesn’t matter.
I only have two feet. I can only wear one pair of shoes at a time.
For a while, I think I’d like to wear the shoes which will go walking into the place where my husband is waiting to have lunch with me.
Last night, I had a dream. Because of my persistent insomnia since Bea died, I usually don’t remember my dreams. So the fact that I recalled this one was kind of fabulous. I miss dreaming.
My dream was as follows:
My husband and I were walking through a building with a lot of hallways and rooms. Maybe a school. There was a cafeteria, and we made plans to go and eat there. I told him to go on ahead, because I needed to change my shoes.
I had a bag with all types of shoes in it. There were so many shoes in the bag. A normal female would cry from the sheer happiness of having all these shoes available. The bag was kind of like a Mary Poppins bag too- the shoes just kept coming. There were sneakers and high heels and ballet flats and tights and socks- just all of the accessories your feet could want. I was overwhelmed with the choices.
They were all so beautiful.
I had to have them all.
I kept trying on these different shoes- but none of them matched what I was wearing.
It became frustrating.
I was also trying on the most outlandish combinations - like these kicky high heels with woolen knee socks.
Really? High heels with wool socks?
So.
I am trying on these shoes, and I am watching my husband through the window if the cafeteria. He is waiting for me to come and join him. His profile is to me. He can’t see me watching him, but I am.
I am trying my hardest to hurry up and find some shoes to match what I am wearing, but it’s taking a long time. I am worried that he’s going to be angry (you know how men get when we are trying to find just the right pair of shoes).
As I’m watching him while searching for the perfect fit, I can see by the expression on his face, that he’s not getting angry. But his shoulders are beginning to slump. He has no food on a plate in front of him- and I am sure that he’s hungry by this time.
He is sad.
Disappointed.
Alone.
And here I am, worrying about what types of shoes will look best. What type of shoes fit me?
I woke up before I found the right shoes.
My husband was already gone to work.
I knew immediately what the dream was about- the message that my psyche was sending me.
As a clarification, I don’t believe in charms and fortunes and horoscopes and messages written in the stars.
I do believe our dreams are an outlet to deeper feelings we may have, which we may have trouble clarifying in everyday life. Our nonsensical parts act out the drama in our subconscious mind, helping us to think things through in some outlandish way which would never make sense in real life.
My dream was about the “action” portion of my grief.
This blog is not the only “project” that I have begun since Beatrix died.
I have helped develop and help run a website dedicated to supporting moms who are carrying babies diagnosed with Limb Body Wall Complex.
I am a member of a very active Facebook group for moms who have delivered with this defect complex.
I am working on presenting a perinatal hospice bill to the state senate, in Beatrix’s name.
In addition, I am toying with the idea of establishing a non-profit in Beatrix’s name, to help people who choose to carry to term with medical bills (we would hate for anyone to choose termination because of the cost of carrying to term- which can be quite high.)
I also personally support other moms with this diagnosis.
For the last six months or so, I have devoted at least an hour every night to searching out other moms who have given birth to children with this defect complex- hoping to connect us all.
I haunt Baby Center, What to Expect, and all of those other baby boards, waiting for a mom who has just received the diagnosis. Steering them towards our group and website.
I am also working on establishing a miscarriage and loss memory box program for our local hospital.
That’s a lot of shoes. And not all of them fit well with the outfit I am wearing.
The outfit which says wife and mom.
Shoes are supposed to be an accessory. Not the main event.
(And yes, every once in a while, you find a pair of shoes that you build a look around- but I don’t know if I want my entire look to be built around this aspect of my life. This action portion of the grief I feel.)
So, I think I am going to take some positive steps in finding the perfect shoes for me.
There is so much I want to do, and so many shoes seem to fit so well- but if they don’t match the rest of the ensemble, fit doesn’t matter.
I only have two feet. I can only wear one pair of shoes at a time.
For a while, I think I’d like to wear the shoes which will go walking into the place where my husband is waiting to have lunch with me.
- Thursday, September 29, 2011
- 0 Thank You For Visiting
