In the early morning hours of Thanksgiving Day, November 27th, I had a dream. At the risk of sounding certifiable, it was more than a dream. Much more. It was a message.
I dreamed that I was a doctor, desperately trying to help a baby girl. I don't remember exactly what was wrong with her, only that at some point in the dream it became apparent that she was going to die. All my efforts were futile, and there was nothing I could do to save her. It was out of my hands. I hung my head over her little body, propped up on the gurney and began to cry.
Then she reached out and swept the hair away from my forehead in exactly the same gesture I use with Caroline and her unruly bangs. Her hand brushed my cheek and then lifted my chin, bringing my gaze up to her. She had an unwavering, wholly calm and wise gaze, as if all the universe were under her command and all knowledge at her fingertips.
And when she began to speak, it was not with words, but rather by filling my head with complete thoughts. And I realized that it was Thomas speaking through her.
He told me that everything was fine. That he was fine - better than fine. He told me that none of this was under my control and that he knew I did everything I could for him and all of my children. He said there was nothing but love. No recrimination, no guilt, no blame. He said I could lay my burden down and be happy. He said there was understanding all around me, and peace.
I cannot tell you the full measure of the message because it was given to me all at once, and not in specific words. But the actions of that baby girl - reversing roles and comforting me, holding my gaze and acting as a conduit for Thomas - it was an amazing gift.
Thomas then told me that he knew what day it was, and that it would be okay. I would have peace.
I woke up filled with a calm that I have not felt for six long, long years. For all of that time, as much as the logical me would be loathe to admit, my emotional self has carried around an enormous feeling of guilt and failure. I have spent so much of my time and energy shadow boxing with opponents, both real and imagined, never fully acknowledging that I was really fighting against myself; against that feeling of failure.
I believe with complete certainty that my dream was not just a dream, but Thomas reaching out to me. I think he has probably tried to do so many times in the past. But I hadn't been ready to hear him. The sense of inner calm and peace that I have felt ever since the dream is in such stark contrast to how I've felt every moment of every day since he died, that frankly, I'm impressed and saddened at how dark things were for me in retrospect.
I took this whole holiday to hang out with my family, play with my kids, and almost wholly ignore work. It was glorious. I feel lighter and engaged in different way. I feel like I don't have to put on a suit of armor just to walk out the front door or get on the internet. And I don't feel like I have to justify myself to anyone - least of all, myself.
It is wonderful.
Thomas was born just past six o'clock on the morning, November 27th, 2002. Looking back, he reached out to me at almost that exact time. I know that this is no magic pill. There will still be hard times and days when I feel less than perfect, to say the least. But I feel I have an understanding that I lacked before. Like the Sunday School song we used to sing, "the peace that passes understanding." And it has healed my soul immeasurably.
