Two nights ago, I turned around and she was nowhere to be found. Then I looked up and saw her in the middle of the street, with more than one car headed straight toward her. I rushed to her and scooped her up just in the nick of time.
Last night, we were with my sister and all her kids, in one of those situations where I’m sure someone has their eye on her. I was on the phone when all of a sudden, I looked up and saw that she wasn’t with any of the kids in my line of sight. I told the person on the phone to hold on and then started yelling, “Who’s got Hudson?” And no one did. I went from room to room and finally found her, curled up asleep on Bess’s bed (which she used to love to sit on), sweating profusely (maybe a reference to her fever?). I picked her up and moved her to a more comfortable spot—she was sleeping soundly the whole time.
Each time when I wake from these dreams, I have the impression that I dreamt about her, but it takes me a while for my brain to fill in the details. And once it does, I am both happy to have seen her in my dreams but also disconcerted thinking about those panicky moments when I realize she has disappeared.
I wonder how many more times I will be forced to relive in my dreams the very real nightmare of losing her.
And more importantly, why can’t the reality, where she died, be the dream, and the dream, where she ends up safe and sound, be the reality?