last night, i had a terrible dream. lily died. the circumstances were fuzzy and accidental, no one was at fault. but the thing that woke me at 4 in the morning, gasping for breath, was the grief. it came in tidal waves of the deepest sorrow; disorienting, overwhelming and endless. the world was missing my lily. we would never see her grow and become the girl and woman she was meant to be. it was apocalyptic. i was completely destroyed.
and then i woke up.
i am trashed today, hungover from facing my deepest fear. it’s usually lurking around the edges of my consciousness, suppressed and soothed by daily routines. i work hard to keep it that way. i can go for days without remembering how vulnerable we really are, how much these kids mean to me, how deeply i love them. but today, it’s right on the surface. i drink in the woolly smell of sadie’s unwashed hair and watch lily strut around the house in her diaper, belly leading the way. i am brutally alive today, noticing and loving every little thing about my girls.
so maybe that’s the gift of this terrible dream, and the gift of allowing myself to sit with the possibility that i could lose them. i am paying attention today. i have them here with me now and that is enough.