Monday, January 19, 2009

absolutely, positively in no way about anything having to do with cycling, except perhaps in just a small way I'll write about tomorrow

early this morning I had a dream.
it was so vivid, so real, I knew I was there within it.
and I was, it was me there, the self I am. I was there with my oldest son.
there were other people, mostly medical professionals, and there were conversations I could replicate here, but they aren't necessary. maria, our long-time nanny and my children's second mom, was there.
and jake.
I was by his bedside, or perhaps perched on the side of his bed, cradling his upper body. he was slightly bigger than he is right now, and I was being told about the new scar on his upper back and the experimental surgery they had done that had resulted in that very scar. I was listening and absorbing, and as I held my son he woke up.
and spoke.
with complete clarity and knowledge of who I was.
he said hi, and looked me in the eye as he did so. we conversed, questions and comments and answers flowing back and forth. he requested some medicine, asked if I had been the one to give it to him last. I responded in the negative, and asked a nurse to get it for him.
every bit of this was peaceful, natural, as if we'd been conversing our entire lives. I wanted it to go on forever.
somehow it was conveyed to me that the last operation was responsible for this experience, and I commented to one of the doctors present that I had given up hope of him ever being able to do anything like this. the doctor replied, never give up hope, there are always more things that can be done.
jake fell asleep, and I worried that when he woke again he would be as he'd always been: unable to speak or make eye contact. but I sat with him, holding his hand. when he awakened again, he was just as before: conversant and peaceful, my young man of a son.
as you can guess, I wanted to remain inside this dream. it was so very real; I knew jake was truly talking to me. nothing he said was earthshattering, there was no spouting of heavenly wisdom. instead, we had a gentle, everyday conversation full of love and peace.
I returned to the waking world filled with strong emotions: joy, and love. loss, and peace. I had a sense of being plaintive, being pulled by an unfulfilled yearning.
today I've been walking through the world in a different way than before, because after almost 18 years, I have finally had a conversation with my son.

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