A dream

Posted by: Sarah Trost in stillbirth/pregnancy loss Add comments

I haven’t had a dream relating to child loss in a long time. At least, I don’t remember one. But this morning I did. Someone’s child had died and there was a memorial, sort of like Snow White, ya know? A glass box in a public place. The body was lightly covered in dirt, so that you could see the form of the child, a young girl, lying there. Beautiful white flowers that never died were scattered across the dirt and a few items in the memorial revealed who this little girl was.

The father was there, as well as another grieving father missing his little girl. They were angry. They began to fist fight, there in the square. One had a firefighter’s uniform, the other wore a police uniform. They rolled up their sleeves and were at it. I thought that was a good thing, to get all that anger out on each other. As men seem to do…that physical impact that seems to do something for the soul, a release.

In the center of the square was a beautiful fountain, the kind that was ground level, that children could play in. This was also a memorial, for the other little girl who had died. I went to the fountain and kneeled down and saw blood, knowing that is where she was buried. I heard a voice, a child singing, and then saw her face, an image in the red water bubbling up. Instinctually, I kneeled and laid belly down in the fountain, my womb on top of her image. As though she was reincarnated, taking life from my womb, she was now standing next to me, alive and whole. It was amazing. And I didn’t want to give her up. She was naked, this new life who was not an infant. I rubbed my swollen belly, sorry that for some reason I didn’t get to enjoy the experience of pregnancy with her. My bare breast nourished her, though, and I was content in that.

What a weird dream. Disturbing, and yet beautiful too.

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