Somewhere in the early morning nursing hours, I had a dream.
It was of Emily.
Her bright blue eyes and fuzzy head and chubby cheeks were intertwined with Garin’s bright blue eyes and fuzzy head and chubby cheeks.
I held her and rocked her and as with all my dreams of her, I knew she would not be with me long. However, this dream was different. This time I thought maybe we would defy the doctors who, in my dreams, always tell me she will not live. I thought maybe this time she would start to gain weight and be well. Maybe I would get to see her grow up. Maybe…
And as Garin slowly lifted me from the fog of dreams, I smiled.
I don’t get to dream of Emmy often. This dream came because only hours before, I had read of my friend Rachel’s little boy in this post and her words made me long for my baby daughter who’s condition was different, but who’s result was the same. The same…except my Emily was healed in death.
Dreaming of Emmy was a gift. I have been preparing for my session for an upcoming homeschool conference in which I’ll be speaking on Homeschooling During Crisis. Emily has been on my mind a lot.
I sort children’s clothes in their tubs downstairs, but Emily’s remain untouched. No little girl to wear those things. Tub after tub stacked high with things that were hers…things that would have been hers.
And always wondering if there will ever be another girl…
Just the other day, we pulled out the double stroller to take a walk around the neighborhood. Our two year old began rummaging through the zippered pockets near his seat. He found a toy. Emily’s toy. And I smiled…and quietly slipped the toy back into the pocket…for another time.
I never thought I would find pieces of her this many years and this many miles from the place where present became past. A new city. A new home. Two more children. And yet, there it was…a toy stashed in a pocket just in case she became bored with the zoo.
I can speak her name, I can tell her story without crying. I’ve had 3 years to practice. But, the dreams…they are fresh and new, unexpected and yet welcome.
Just like the toy in the zippered pocket of the double stroller, my dreams are zipped away,
counted among precious blessings,
saved for another day.