Dreams of My Daughter

April 30, 2009

I refer to the child I lost as him. I’ve wondered why that is so.

Six months before I got pregnant I dreamed of a little girl, she was about one years old. I held her in my arms and tossed her in the air. She smiled wide with large brown eyes. Her hair black and cut short her face plump and round. The image is frozen in my mind looking down at me up in the air, my arms holding her up. I knew then that my first child would be a daughter.  Two weeks before I got pregnant my mother called me and told me she had a dream, a cute little girl with short brown hair, smiling up at her.  Last night I had a vivid dream. A little girl about one years old, she ran around barefoot as I tried to catch her. Her hair was short and dark, small gold earrings in her air. She wore pink overalls.

I think I know why I call my unborn child him. If the child that died is the girl in my dreams, the one I’ve held and kissed and loved as a mother, I fear what such acceptance would do to me. I am trying to be positive. That this child represents hope for a future daughter. That she is the daughter I still have hopes to have, but now, as I’m haunted, wondering if this baby I lost was her, the grief seems to stir itself within my soul once again as though anew.

Little baby, if you only knew how much I miss you. I would give my life just for a moment to hold you up in the air and see your beautiful smile.

Please God, give me strength. Give me comfort. This is so damn hard sometimes.

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