Chapter 63 - Dreams

No one prepares you for the aftermath of an abortion. There are no hand-outs for potential symptoms or expectations of how you might feel. There are no follow-up appointments. There is nothing. You are discarded and ignored because of what you have done. It may be different now, but twenty six years ago, that's how it was.

When a woman has a miscarriage, people gather around her to help her through her trauma. They offer advice and concern, and they are kind and considerate. They share their stories of their experiences. Sometimes there are even religious services to pay tribute to the lost child.

After I came home from the hospital, I had symptoms, but I wasn't sure if they were normal or not…but I had no one to ask…no one to share…no one to help. I felt so awfully empty.

And I had dreams of my baby, vivid dreams. I remember shortly after the abortion, having one dream in particular. I was in the hospital and someone brought my baby to me. I remember it so clearly.

He was all tightly wrapped in a blanket and I delicately uncovered him, like a precious gift, ever so carefully. I remember checking his fingers and toes, and then putting my index finger in the palm of his hand, and his tiny, long fingers closed around mine. I could feel his warm body in my arm as I reached down to kiss his forehead and smell his head – oh that smell – a mixture of baby powder and fresh baby. I remember him opening his dark eyes and looking directly into mine, as we were bonding. If I close my eyes, I can still feel him in my arms.

It is odd, but over the years I have always dreamed of him, and he has aged as any child. He has been growing up in my mind. Each dream would show me what he would be like at different milestones in his life.

I remember another dream I had of his first day of school and the aching in my heart as I put this tiny innocent child on a bus and watched as he slowly went out of my view. I can see the outfit that I had so carefully chosen for him to wear – blue cords with a light blue shirt – he looked so grown-up, yet so small. I remember him looking back at me as he took those tentative first steps onto the school bus steps, looking for the reassurance that it would be okay without me for the first time.

God he looked like his father. He was taller than most children his age, and he certainly didn't get that from me. His hair was still auburn (from Rett), curly and thick,…that was from me. He had my temperament – easy going, and he loved to laugh.

In the beginning these dreams would haunt me, terrify me because I thought I was losing my mind. After a few years I would welcome them because they were 'normal' by then. It brought me some peace as I watched Silas grow.

Rett was never in these dreams.

I guess it is all part of the aftermath.