I believe in dreams. I drempt about my father last night. We were getting to know each other again. Dad took his life four delicate days after Annie was born. My first girl after three boys! I named her after my mom who died of cancer when I was 25.
I got the phone call about Dad on a beautifully brilliant sunny day. I was sitting on the deck filled with bliss and a newborn baby hangover. “I’m afraid I have some bad news”, my brother went on and my my world sped forward,for had it stopped, I don’t know if I could have survived.
Four children, four Amazing children. All under the age six and a little girl, the icing on my cake of boys. A dream come true. Only now, there is this invisible glass wall between me and my dream. I know it’s there. I can see it. I can touch it, but sadly, I can no longer feel it. All I feel is pain.
I cried the day Annie was born A deep heavy cry. A cry that thanks the universe for a dream come true. “she’s going to be my new best friend”, I happily sobbed to my husband.
Annie turned six this past april. She looks like a little Madam Alexander doll with freckles. She reads Junie B. Jones to me every single night in bed. She laughs and laughs routinely
ending up in hiccups. I can’t help but be astutely aware of my happiness during these times.
A dear old friend promised me I would feel joy again one day and I can’t tell you how desperately I wanted to believe her. “It would be a dream come true” I told her.
Every night around 9:00pm, dad would walk into the family room, in nothing but his white boxer shorts, announcing he was going to bed. Mom would kiss him on the cheek, then he’d walk over to me, pat me on the head and say, “goodnight Aliboo”.
“goodnight dad” I’d say, “sweet dreams.”
I believe in dreams. This I believe.
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