Hopeful-lessness Dreams

August 26, 2018

By Sanda Rathamone



"It's hard to wait around for something you know might never happen, but it's even harder to give up when it's everything you want."

I was on the toilet late one night and started talking to God. It seems that being on the toilet, alone in the bathroom is a great place to hear myself talk, especially about how much I am so tired of grieving.

Grieving over Elijah and grieving over a closed womb.

The talk started off with, "I don't want to do this anymore." All I could hear was the silence of someone attentively listening.

When I got back into bed, with my husband still sound asleep, I waited for sleep to come. Instead, I could feel that the conversation with God wasn't over - I still had more to say.

I told God: 

"I don't deserve all of this pain. I deserve to feel joy." 

"And please, don't give me anymore dreams about these babies. I don't want to dream about them, unless they're real." 

"I don't want hope anymore. I give up. I surrender." 

"If my baby never comes, then please, take away my sadness. Take away my pain, so that I can focus on something better. Take away my pain, so I can be happy."

Tears were streaming, I silently wept, and didn't fall sleep until 2 a.m. I don't recall if I dreamt of anything that night and if I did, then it's a good thing that I don't remember. I don't want to remember, even if it wasn't about another baby I couldn't have.

That talk with God came about because on my first day back at school last week, there was a petite pregnant woman waddling around with her bulging belly at the front desk. As I walked past her, I could hear my thoughts, I wish it was me waddling like that. I wish I was her. 

A couple of days after my talk with God, I had a dream. I dreamt that I lost another baby and his name was Henry. Although, it's obvious to me why that name appeared. I've been watching too much Netflix before bed - reruns of Once Upon A Time. My subconscious must have gotten the name from the show. Maybe my mind couldn't "make up" a new name.

In the dream, baby Henry was much smaller than Elijah's tiny frame. He was at least a month earlier than Elijah's death and gestation at five months. I held his naked teensy-tiny body in my hands and all I could remember was hearing myself calling out their names together: 

Henry and Elijah.

Henry and Elijah.

I have to bury Henry next to Elijah, right? I kept asking myself that question. Because they go together, right? They're brothers in heaven now, right?

In real life, Elijah was cremated, not buried. The dream didn't make sense. But after waking from that dream, I worried about losing another one. That is my biggest fear, besides never conceiving again. I don't want to lose another one. I don't want to go through this all over again.

That is also another fear in my life: I don't want to repeat the same things. 

The same struggles. The same choices. The same people. The same places. The same lessons.

A day after that dream, I had another one of another baby. So much for telling God not to give me anymore of these baby dreams.

In this dream, I was breastfeeding a baby. It was about the same size of Elijah (10 inches long). Maybe even a little bigger. I just remember how strange it was to breastfeed such a small baby, but there was something even more stranger. My breasts weren't my breasts! I mean, they were, but they did not look anything like the ones I have now. 

No, these breasts were oddly shaped, long, and narrow. They were so odd that even I was repulsed by how they looked. Yet, they were incredible in how I could see through them, as if the skin of my breasts and nipples were transparent. Imagine milk filled inside of a disposable milk liner in a bottle. Yeah, that's how my breasts and nipples looked like, but much smaller in width. 

Sadly, the baby was not liking the breasts or the milk. I understood why. Obviously my breasts were in the wrong shape and size. I wouldn't blame the baby for feeling the same way I felt about my breasts. I don't know how this happened, maybe I gave the baby to my husband, but somehow, the baby was in his arms and liked his breasts. 

HE breastfed the baby. 

I woke up from the dream so confused! 

When I told my husband about it, it just sounded all the more weirder. If God is giving me these baby dreams because I told Him not to give me anymore, then I guess there is hope after all. Because I think God sent my husband another one of these baby dreams right after mine.

A couple of days ago, my husband tells me of this weird dream he had.

He told me that he dreamt that I had all of this stuff hanging out of me. He saw what looked like my insides or intestines and a long cord. It was in this pile right under me. 

He was curious to know what this stuff was and what was inside of it. As he moved away some of the stuff and cords around, he saw this blob with something in it. At that moment, he realized that it was the baby and tried to put it back inside the pile and the pile with the baby back inside of me. 

But it was too late. The baby was already out. 

He said that the baby was born premature and that he was okay with everyone calling the baby "preemie." The baby was going to be a survivor. He didn't know exactly when, but believes that 36 weeks was the baby's gestation. However, there was a catch. The baby wouldn't be a survivor, unless I gave up my life. I had to die for the baby to live. (We both thought "How cliché is this?!"). 

Being me, I most likely would have sacrificed my life for the baby.

When he told me about the dream, I didn't know what to say. I just thought it strange how after my series of dreams would he have one as well, especially about a baby. My husband usually forgets his dreams and doesn't have memorable dreams very often as I do. Hearing about his dream was a surprise, but does not sound like a coincidence at all.

I don't know if God was trying to reach me through my blindness from grief by reaching out to my husband with his dream, but it's interesting to me of how his dream was the complete opposite of my first dream. The baby didn't die, the baby lived. The baby survived. But I would have to die...

It made me think that there was hope for a baby after all, but not without it's challenges. Not that I am not already struggling with the challenges.

When I had my talk with God, I told Him that I didn't want hope anymore. Because it seemed like all I had was hope, but it wasn't enough to put me out of my suffering. Hope didn't fill my arms with a crying baby who needs feeding and changing, two years after my son died. Hope made me feel so disillusioned with myself and my dreams.

On Friday morning, I got to school when the clock struck 8:24 a.m. on the exact day of August 24th. A verse from the bible spoke out to me:

"For we were saved in this hope, but hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one still hope for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance."

- Romans 8:24-25 (NKJV)

I knew then that God was speaking to me.

That same Friday, I had a meeting with my mentor after class and told him that my husband and I were "trying again." It sounded like a lie, but I wanted it to be true. I don't even know if it is true, but know that we both hope for our baby someday.

I also said that I didn't want to put my focus on it (a baby) as much as I had on my first round of school. Again, this sounded like a lie, but I wanted it to be true. Honestly, I have been disappointed too many times and could never finish school if every month of being on a period and not getting pregnant had brought me so much anguish and misery.

But then again, would I finish my last year of school if I was pregnant? Would my dream of becoming a massage therapist end, if my dream of a baby began?

It now makes sense of why my husband had that dream.

If I had to chose between a career or family, I'd chose family. My dream of becoming a massage therapist appeared not too long after losing Elijah. It wouldn't compare to the dream of holding my sweet baby and watching my baby grow into the most beautiful thing in the world.

My mentor said something like, "You will have one someday. I know it." He had such a convincing face and a voice of reassurance, like I was worrying about nothing. I almost believed him. I wanted to believe him.

With love,

Must Read: 
Read the full story about Elijah:
Elijah's Story: From Gender Reveal To A Spontaneous Delivery

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