Two months ago today, my son was born.
His due date has come and gone, as has the date I was to be induced. The one month anniversary came and went, and though it wasn’t easy, I made it through all of those days without too much trouble. Today, however, that is quite different. Today, I should have a two month old.
In the weeks that followed losing my sweet boy, I was given sleeping pills. Every time I fell asleep, my mind would play the hardest moments over, and over, until I startled myself awake. The recurrent scenes of being told my son no longer had a heartbeat, or having my beautiful, lifeless son given to me once he was born would upset me so greatly, that I would wake up crying breathlessly. I often woke either just before 2:17am, the moment he was born, or 04:21am, the moment we were called to the hospital. The sleeping pills would keep me from dreaming at all, or waking at times that would remind me of what I had been through.
Lately, I haven’t been taking any medication to help me sleep. I don’t need them anymore, now that my pregnancy hormones have gone. My dreaming habits have returned to normal, and most nights I don’t dream at all. Now, I often try to dream. I wish to dream of my Skylar. As I try to fall asleep, I’ll do my best to remember his face, or stare at his pictures. I want so deeply to know he is okay. I want so desperately to have him visit me in my dreams.
Dreaming of my boy in a future tense, rather than the moments when he was taken from my grasp is something I have hoped for. To see his eyes open to look at me was something I had longed for so deeply. I had always wondered what color his eyes would have been. I often try to dream of him just so I can see him open his eyes. The night we got home from the hospital. Michael and I laid in bed as I told him how sad I was that I would never know what color our baby’s eyes were. The next morning, Michael mentioned he had dreamed of our boy. He got to see the color of his eyes.
From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I couldn’t wait to see our baby’s face. I was so excited to see who he would look like. From the ultrasounds, it was pretty obvious he had his daddy’s nose. I picked on Michael so much for sharing that wide nose of his. We were so excited to see who our little guy looked like. The moment they told me he was gone; all I wanted was to see his little face. However, as he was born, I was scared I couldn’t handle it. It was until Michael told me how beautiful he was, and that he did indeed have that wide nose, that I couldn’t bear another moment not knowing what my sweet boy looked like.
I spent nine months imagining my sons face. I knew I was going to love him more than anything, as I already did. I love his daddy so much, that I would often hope he would look just like him. I often hoped he looked just like his daddy, but had the blue eyes just like so many people in my family have. Michael’s eyes are green, and I love them, but I hoped I would have a dark headed blue eyed little boy. It was hard to accept that I would now never know.
On the day after our son was born, Michael took me to breakfast. We were killing time until the pharmacy opened so I could get my pain medication. I sat in a booth awaiting our food as Michael looked at me and told me he had dreamt of our boy that night. I had kept my eyes lowered to avoid strangers and their concerned looks, as I was a complete mess. My eyes locked onto his as he told me about this dream, I hung on every word. He said the dream he had was brief, but he saw our sweet Skylar. His eyes were mostly blue, with green toward the middle. We already knew his eyelashes were long and dark like his daddy’s. How perfect it would have been to look into those eyes for the rest of my life? I try so hard every night to dream of him.
I often wonder if he is okay, and if he knows me. It’s so very hard to just accept that he is gone, and his existence is over. It’s so very hard to have never seen him alive. I long for any kind of communication, and I have always thought that a dream would help me know he is okay. I want so badly for him to know how much I loved him and that I would have given anything to save him.
Saturday, I watched a little girl that is close to my family. Her name is Dorothy. My Grandmother has her, and asked me to care for her that morning, as she had something to do that day. I have always enjoyed her company. We played with bubbles, and pet the horses. We had a phenomenal time. But, as she came into my home early that morning, she walked right into Skylar’s room. She put her little chin on the edge of his crib and said, “Where is he?” It was so strange to me that she said ‘he’. Little miss Dorothy and I had never really talked about the fact that the baby in my belly was a boy.
I stood silent in the doorway as I thought to myself about how deeply I wish to know the answer of that question myself. My Grandmother responded, “He’s in heaven, with Grandad”. I’ve been reading into heaven quite a bit lately. I’ve found a great amount of comfort in thinking that my little boy looks down on me from heaven, and sees how much I miss him. I can’t help but question sometimes if it really is true.
Dorothy responded, “No he’s not, he’s with Michael” Michael, my husband, was still in bed.
I’ve had a bit of trouble with the idea that my sweet boy is somehow not in heaven. After all, don’t people say that children can see those who are gone?
Last night, I awoke at 2:17am. I had been dreaming of my sweet boy. However, my dream did not wake me. As I woke, it took me a moment to adjust back to reality. In my dream, our boy was alive.
Michael and I were headed to some large get together where nearly everyone we knew was there, and I recall being nervous, as it was the first time we were taking our Skylar out to something like this. As we got there, strangers were telling us how adorable our boy was. In reality, I recall being so proud of him in the hospital, even though he was gone, he was still so very gorgeous. In my dream, people were coming to us, mentioning how they thought we had lost our sweet boy, and we got to tell them that our doctors were wrong. In this dream, I told so many people that it was a mistake; I explained to so many people with so very much joy, that our son had lived.
In this dream, my Skylar was the happiest little guy I had ever seen. He was about a year old, walking and somewhat talking. In the final moment before I awoke, he looked up at me, smiling. His eyes were so very bright, and his smile so genuine. I could tell he loved me, and looking at him being happy warmed my entire body with happiness. He looked at me as all babies look to their mamas, with so much love and trust. The relationship between a mother and her child is something I have longed to be a part of for as long as I remember. In that moment, though it was a dream, I was the happiest I’ve ever been.
Readjusting to reality upon waking up was remarkably difficult.
In my dream, my son’s eyes were blue, with green in them. In my dream, my baby boy was happy, and so was I. I hope he is in heaven, and he can see how very much I miss him today. I hope one day soon, I’ll be in heaven with him, and I can look into his eyes like I did in my dream last night, and feel the happiness wash over me once again.