Though I have only been awake for a few hours, it has already been a rough day. It was rough as I awoke, and while in the past few days, I have awoken to similar thoughts, the rest of the week I quickly got past it. Today has been different.
I conclude that this thought, this pain, this panic, will never truly heal in this lifetime. There is a hole that cannot be filled, and a pain that cannot be reconciled. Though I have days where I find joy, I have never truly forgotten – and I only have to look to my dreams, and the prayer I begin before I even wake up, to know how deeply it affects me still.
I was in a room. A long room filled along one wall with shelves that had numerous toys, games, puzzles, and books. In the dream, I thought it was a room from a house that I used to live in. Now that I am awake, I am pretty sure it was one of the preschool rooms in my church. It doesn’t matter, really.
In my arms was my baby. My angel. Beside me was a friend, and this friend had decided that she would adopt this child in my arms, since I was unable to. She asked me if this was okay, and though it pained me, I agreed with her. The child would have a good home, and at least I would know her. At least I would see her.
For days, weeks, months, in the dream, I spent much of my time in my friend’s apartment (this room where I used to live) with this child who was, yet wasn’t mine. In the beginning, the baby called me, ‘Mama.’ As time went by, and the adoption was going through, she began to call my friend ‘Mama.’ That hurt, too. It hurt a lot! But still I was in the life of my baby, and it had to be enough.
And then I found out that this friend and her husband were trying to buy a condo, and would be taking ‘my baby’ away from me. It isn’t that they intended to take her away, but it was a really nice place, in a good neighbourhood, and it would be best for the child. Besides, this friend and her husband had always wanted to live there, and now they had the opportunity.
It didn’t matter to me that it was a beautiful condo, in a nice neighbourhood. Where they were living was next to me. The apartment was fine, and I never felt unsafe there. What mattered was that they were taking ‘my baby’ from me.
At the end of the dream, I was walking through this condo, holding ‘my baby,’ when my friend found me. She said, “you didn’t even tell me where you were going, you just disappeared.” I needed to see where my daughter would be living, and it was a beautiful home – new kitchen, hardwood floors, gas fireplace in the sunken living room… beautiful.
But nothing could convince my heart and mind that taking my child away from me was worth… whatever they were giving to her.
And I awoke crying, “Please bring my babies back to me,” as if, even six and a half years later, it is still some nightmare that I can wake up from. “Please don’t take them away.” And it has been the same for many days. The dreams are always different. The people, the places, the story… always different. But the message is always the same – my babies were taken away, and I want them back.
How could anyone have thought this would be better for me than raising the children, challenging as they were.
The pain that never ends. The tears that never dry up. The trauma that will never be overcome. The hole that can never be filled. Not in this lifetime, anyway. Is it any wonder it is hard to keep going most days?
*This post was written and scheduled, as were many along with it, before my dog died. I have been rearranging my scheduled posts, to post the ones about my dog during the time I have been struggling with that loss.