When I was pregnant, I had a solid month of nightmares. Scary, panic-inducing dreams. They had just enough of real-life mixed in so that I would remember them the next day. For example, I would dream that my husband was passed out during a snowstorm and I had to figure out a way to shovel the driveway while I was 5 months pregnant, drag his unconscious body out to the car, and get him to the hospital. I would problem-solve these dreams while I was awake, going over every "worst-case" scenario in my head until I felt like I had a solution.
Turns out, I was dreaming of all the wrong worst-case scenarios...I never once had a dream that my baby would die inside of me. I never felt that she had a horrible, aggressive tumor taking over her body each night that I lay down to sleep.
This past weekend I flew on an airplane for the first time since Kayla died. There is always something a little spiritual for me about flying, being above the earth and among the clouds. This time I had a few moments of true peace and bliss as the plane lifted off the ground. It was like I didn't exist for a few moments, when all I could see was the sky and the clouds getting closer (I had a window seat!) For a minute, I didn't care if I lived or died. It was a moment of faith for me, of knowing that whenever I die it will be the right moment and I will have completed everything I was supposed to. I wonder if Kayla felt that. And no, I'm not thinking of killing myself in any way, or trying to be morbid, but I spent the rest of the flight dreaming of what it is like to die.
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