Boogers on the Wall

I dream of the day I can actually dream about my angel baby. I’m talking about sweet, peaceful dreams, not wickedly horrifying nightmares.

I have only had a handful of nightmares about Luca since his stillbirth last spring. But those nightmares are powerful enough that they burn into my memory making them impossible to forget. As if the nightmare of giving birth to a non-living baby isn’t bad enough. Try reliving it a number of times while you are trying to catch some ZZZs.

I don’t know why I can’t dream of him in a white robe floating on a cloud. Or hanging out in heaven with my grandma Fern and grandpa Leo.

Instead I either relive his nightmarish birth, or dream that I’m in denial about his death and therefore carrying around his dead little body. It’s horrible.

I have heard of people who have peaceful, even helpful dreams about their deceased loved ones. I’ve even heard of people being visited by their loved ones spirits. Not me. Not yet anyway.

I wish I new what triggered the nightmares. I’m afraid they get worse when I do things like flip through his picture book or think about the day I had him. But I can’t just forget about him. Even if it means I chance having another nightmarish flashback.

There’s a song that plays on his memory video with lyrics that haunt me. It says, “Are you really gone? Are you? Whisper to me, come to me in a dream, promise it’s more than it seems.” I both love and hate that song. Sometimes I think the whole experience with his pregnancy and birth was a big dream. Then I look at the pictures and realize it was real. I really did have my baby die.

I want him to whisper to me. I even want him to come to me in a dream – but not a nightmare. Let’s be honest. Life without him is nightmare enough. I don’t need that raw panic feeling eating at my broken heart during my sleep. It’s bad enough when I’m awake.