Nine months ago this morning, my husband Fred was dying. I dreamed last night that I saw him in a parking garage. Standing beside me was a little boy, slender, maybe 11 years old, our son. Fred was dressed up for work, looking wonderful, his hair and beard still brown. I was shocked to see him. It was a miracle. “Are you back?” I asked. “I guess so. I’m here,” he said. I kept staring at him, trying to drink him in. Finally, he kissed us both goodbye, then got into the car and drove away.
I put my arms around my son. He looked very Hispanic, clearly from my side of the family. We started to dance. “You’re a great dancer already,” I said. “Just like your dad.” We danced for a long time. Then I turned around and saw on the floor a pair of blue socks still in the shape of Fred’s feet. I knew he was gone.
Morbid and weird, I know, but I’m struck by my dream about this son. Over the years I’ve had lots of baby dreams where I was pregnant or had an infant in my arms. This is the first time I’ve dreamed about an older child. It’s like he was sent to comfort me.
I wonder what it would be like if I had the real thing. He’d be at school now. This afternoon, I’d be waiting to greet him instead of preparing to walk the dog. Oh well. Perhaps Fred was sending me a gift on this anniversary, telling me he’s still here, even if I can’t see or touch him anymore.
Do you dream about babies or children you might have had? Let’s share.
Did I tell you my essay, “My Imaginary Daughter?” has been published in the current edition of Still Crazy literary magazine? You might not have heard of it, but it’s a fun read, available online as well as in paper.