February 1st, 2014

It was a dream about grief, I think. My mother was her age now and I was my age now and in the dream she had another child. I loved this baby more than I loved myself and when we were at the beach, my mother, this baby, and I, I saw a beached dolphin brought back to life and set free in the water. The men who carried the dolphin were waist deep and the dolphin, released, dove and swam away. Look! I called to my mother. As the dolphin disappeared, the baby was face down in the surf. I screamed and her tiny body turned blue and then black and I couldn't remember infant CPR. Shaking, I cried for my mother who revived her long enough for her color to return, but the breath never reached the bottoms of her lungs. I don't remember getting home and I never stopped crying. And then there was a party. How could all these people gather when I could not breathe? My mother was sad but she continued to live. I did not. I stayed in my room with my 11 year-old self and talked about death. We sat with our backs against the door and would not let our friends in. There was a closet and the light wouldn't turn on, and that was important too. Everyone was me in the dream except the dolphin, which is my life, the one I could have, if I choose it. I am still sitting with my back against the bedroom door, but I am trying to find the voice to say "just a minute. I'll be out in just a minute".