In the early hours of August 12th I had a horrible dream: I dreamed that I woke up in a pool of blood and gave birth to a dead baby. Not twenty-four hours later I was in the E.R. learning that my baby had died and that soon my dream would become a reality. On the 14th of August, just over five weeks ago, my nightmare came true and my life will never be the same.
Since the loss of my pregnancy I have struggled with sleeping. A friend pointed out that this is a sign of post-partum depression, which I know I am struggling with at times, but I think it goes deeper than that. Nightmares continue to plague my sleeping hours. A week ago I dreamed that I was in a building that was about to explode and my mission was to save a baby. I fought and struggled and even killed to get that baby out of that building only to find that the baby I was trying so desperately to save was dead; I had killed it.
I wake feeling exhausted and drained but I must get on with life; there is no time to process the unspeakable horror that left me gasping for air as I woke. My daughter needs to be taken care of, laundry needs to be washed, meals need to be cooked, ants need to be battled with and produce needs to be preserved. While on the outside life seems normal for our family, death continues to linger with me in my dreams, never letting me forget.