Last night I had a Dream

That I wasn't alone in this...

Last night I had a Dream
Of an empty bassinet
A slowly deflating belly
An infant asleep on my chest

Last night I had a dream
where two inches didn’t matter
There was no talk of rupturing
& I felt honest gratitude to this body
a thankfulness for its service.

Last night I had a dream 
that my body hadn’t overridden my brain,
where it hadn’t hijacked the story,
where I got to keep my all of the organs 
that my body was made with.

A dream that jostled me awake,
leaving me clutching my heart
in a feeling I could only describe as loss
Here’s what I do know
You are missing from me.

Maybe I wish that even in my dreams,
I could forgive my body
I could pretend this loss didn’t destroy me
Maybe I could even sense the hope
That not knowing could've keep us safe.

Unfortunately, in this case,
if my body
had presented my mind
with this information sooner,
it might not have broken me so intensely.

Last night I had a dream
I remembered coldly that
they don’t tell you what it feels like
when your miracle baby dies.
When an ectopic pregnancy 
is a risk to your life
& When losing your life actually becomes 
an idea you’re okay with.

They don’t tell you that
it hurts differently, but certainly not less
than the twins you delivered at home
two years and eight months prior
And that there will forever be a line
Between what was and what became
Between what I thought I knew 
& what I actually felt.

They don’t tell you that
when they remove the baby,
when they remove the ruptured tube,
when they suction all of the blood
that had leaked into your belly,
they don’t tell you that you’ll never be the same
That newborns will ache differently now
That tiny clothes will come with deep pain.

& they don’t tell you
that in two weeks time
at just 38 years old,
you’ll choose the least worst option.
You’ll choose to listen to your doctor
You’ll choose to hear the word unsafe
& listen.

They don’t tell you that you’ll agree
to the removal of your remaining
reproductive organs.
That you’ll close a door
without opening a window
and the air will feel stale
like it can’t circulate fast enough.

Last night I had a dream
that I wasn’t alone in this
that you were here and it was good.
That each month was a sign of life
instead of a reminder of death.

Last night I had a dream
Wondering if I can’t sleep 
because wherever you are,
it feels like you’re calling for me

I know that it’s impossible,
To communicate across 
the space time continuum.
And I know that I feel you reaching out,
tugging for me.

I don’t know what that means
It feels like more than a sign
Like a moment that was critical not to miss
So here I am
At 3am
Sixteen days before surgery
Allowing myself to feel the complicated
tender, raw moments
of mothering another baby in the stars.