I woke up at 2:00 a.m. on Saturday. And then stayed awake for 20 hours. So when I finally went to sleep Sunday night, I dropped into REM immediately. I know that because after a really intense dream I woke up and looked at the clock and only a few minutes had passed since I'd gone to bed.
As for that dream . . .
It began with my youngest child, Joe, standing beside me. I was looking at him and I could see past his autism, see him as a "normal" human being. It was startling. I saw his frustration at not being able to communicate his thoughts clearly. I saw his anger at the way his body would force him to make movements that he had no control over. I saw how disappointed he was that this was his lot in life. I began to cry, and I reached out to him, telling him how sorry I was.
And then other people began to come into the room. The dead. My sister Kate, who had killed herself by stepping in front of a train. My mother, who had died in a whirling storm of dementia. My father, whose lungs had filled up with fluid and whose last breaths sounded like a clogged sink slowly draining. My friend Joe, my former students Seth and Ryan, my Army buddy Robert. The room was full of these translucent, pastel colored ghosts, and they circled around me as I tried to hold on to my youngest child, and their sullen anger was hot against my skin.
And I woke up crying. I prayed. I prayed that when I died, my sons and daughter would be taken care of, that they would not suffer deprivation or humiliation in their lives. I prayed that I would meet my mother and father and friends in heaven, and that after good, happy, fulfilling lives, my children would join me there.
I longed for the idea of heaven to be true. I begged the universe to make that a reality.
Now it's Monday morning 2 a.m., and I am still begging. I think that I will be begging for the rest of my days on this earth.
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