Every vacation day seems to have its own reasons to stay in bed a little longer- we got to bed late, my little one had a bad dream and couldn't get back to sleep, but this morning it was a dream that kept me in bed.
I was dreaming about my little boy. He was blue eyes and blonde hair. His little round face smiled at me, he was about three years old and he was beautiful.
In the dream, I could see him and I could touch him. I was his mama, but he wasn't mine. His eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed- he had a fever. I needed to hold him, but he wasn't mine. I couldn't take him home.
I wanted to give him a gift to keep him company in the place that wasn't home, not my home, not our home. I wanted to give him a toy to hold, but I didn't know what to give him. I didn't know what he liked. How can a mother not know what her son likes? I had to ask his caretaker- a kind sympathetic man. I had to ask, "Does my boy like trucks? dinosaurs? sharks? What does he like? Why don't I know? I should know! I'm his mother. I should know what he likes!"
The man said, "He will like what you give him. He'll like anything you want to give him."
I woke up, but I closed my eyes again. I needed to see him again. I needed to give him something to hold- because I can't hold him.
I wish I could have held him- even in a little dream.
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