I Had a Dream

I should have written this yesterday on MLK day.  It has nothing to do with him and I'm sure nothing to do with anything anyone would guess.  It's not about all the dreams I had for Ian's life that are dashed or about hopes I  had for myself.

I actually had a dream.  After the worst weekend in a long time, I prayed, hard, that I could dream about Ian still being here and get to spend some time with him, even if it was just in my head.  I woke up yesterday morning  wondering if, in fact, it was a message.

I dreamed about Ian.  Yes, I got what I  prayed for.  He was in an isolation area in an intensive care unit, waiting for a transplant.  We were where we have been incalculable times:  getting short with nurses, sympathizing with other parents and listening to doctors young enough to be our children, who then report back to the ones who actually know what they are doing.  I went up a few floors and could hear helicopters landing and bringing organs to other patients--which I have also actually done in real life.  While Keith sat with Ian, I searched the hospital feeling we weren't in the right place because I couldn't find the carpet with the sun on it--a trademark of the cardiac unit at Boston Children's Hospital where we saw miracles  happen over and over again.

I woke up thinking about how I wouldn't choose that for Ian.  He already  played that  horrible waiting game as a 5 year old.  Why should I have to think about that?  What mother should have to play that game?  Would he be better off here and perhaps suffering?  No perhaps. There was a lot of suffering in his life.  Or is he better being far away from his parents who ache for him.  Everything points to him being in an indescribably happy place, but does he ache for us?

I've said it before in my life, but I mean it  today.  Be careful what you  pray for!