I had a nightmare a couple nights ago. In it I dreamt that Namine was dead, and I alone was left with the dreadful task of carrying her down the aisle, one last time, to say goodbye. When I woke, there was that single cold moment when I thought the waking world was the same as the dream world. No relief has ever been so sweet as this morning’s realization that Namine’s death was nothing but fiction, that she was alive, sweet, warm, and still dreaming whatever dreams her little mind concocts.

I hate sleep. I don’t dislike sleep itself, but rather the dreams that I always know are bound to come. Thankfully, since Namine has become less dependent on machinery, the worst nightmares have become more infrequent. But it seems that surgery – both leading up to and recovery afterward – always brings out the worst fears, however irrational, manifested by my subconscious in dreams.

I regret to say that this nightmare has stayed with me, as dreams are wont to do. And as I usually do with things that won’t leave my head, I wrote it down, this time in the form of a poem. I don’t have a title. But I will share the poem with you, should you choose to read it. I can’t – and won’t – say “enjoy,” but I will encourage you to remember and be thankful, as I do and am, that God has taken such good care of our little love.

You always loved to be carried
To be held, safe in my arms
But this is the last time I will carry you

You always loved to sit here in church
Hands folded, so sweet
But now you’ll never unfold your hands again

As I hold you tight, knowing I must let you go
You are light, so light
But I can’t bear the weight of this

Step after awful step
Traitorous feet bring me closer
Closer
Closer to leaving you

My arms numb
But I hold onto you
But you’re not holding me anymore
No longer loving me, hugging me

Your warm touch, your bright eyes
Are dead
Cold, unfeeling, and I am
Dead.

Husband. Daddy. Programmer. Artist. I’m not an expert, I just play one in real life.

  • Dadgineer aka Steve

    Well put. The thing all us special needs parents think about, but don’t like to talk about.

  • I cried. But put nicely.