Wednesday, March 6, 2019
I have so many grief dreams, I think I could write a book. They are always strange and symbolic, sometimes they seem silly but they all impact me greatly. In my last grief dream Zuka was a toddler, as he often is. I had been rejected by most of my friends and family and Zuka was the only person I had (Jamilah was not born yet). I walked with Zuka through this mall type place and and outside was some soft of music festival. We walked through the doors, I carried Zuka in a makeshift sort of baby carrier on my chest, so only his little head peeked out. We stood on this cement walkway and looked at this beautiful music festival before us. There were trees and lights and people dressed in bohemian and tie dyed clothing. I was happy, just carrying my baby boy around, talking to him, it was he and I against the world. I walked down these cement steps towards the festival, and I looked down at him, I couldn't see his face in the carrier anymore. I quickly searched through the carrier to find I was carrying an empty bunch of cloth. I looked back and I had somehow dropped Zuka at the top of the staircase, He was completely okay. He stood there, waiting for me, his chubby little baby self. Other people came out and stood with him as he waited for me to come back and get him.
I walked towards the stairs, and suddenly the cement stairs were too high to climb, they were giant. The stairs were cement walls, on on top of the other and my baby waited for me at the top. I couldn't get to him. I struggled and struggled to get up the cement stairs but I couldn't get to him. I was crying and calling out for him. I woke up in tears, I am in tears writing this. These dreams sound silly...but each is a heartbreaking way in which I lose my son or try desperately to find him. They are torture.