Napkin Scrawl #8 - Dream

I woke one morning to a dream. I don’t know where I was exactly… the house was unfamiliar. I remember the dream started with my husband entering the room. I had the feeling he had just come back from camping, fishing, or some other outdoorsy over night outing. He was dirty and in desperate need of a shower. But I was very glad to see him.

As my husband came into the room, I asked him where our youngest son was. He had gone with my husband but not returned… at least, not yet.I missed him immensely and wanted to hear all about his adventures with his dad.

My husband turned to me and explained that something terrible had happened. Apparently, our son had an accident of which my husband was responsible. He explained that he had accidentally killed our son and buried him at the cabin where they stayed. He hugged me and then apologized.

Of course, I was extremely upset. I was all a jumble of emotions, anger, sadness, fear and disbelief. I couldn’t believe that my husband, father of our son, would have first, killed our son, and second, been so nonchalant about the whole thing. I was hysterical!

“What do you mean?” I screamed. “How could he be dead? Are you sure? What did you do to him? Where did you leave him? Did you check his pulse?”

My husband replied, “Well, I kicked him in the butt for doing something stupid and he fell into a pile on the floor. It looked as if I had broken his neck. I saw no life in him at all! I didn’t know what to do.”

“Did you check his pulse, was he breathing?” I asked.

“Well, yeah, I checked.”

I wasn’t convinced. I sensed that he didn’t do a thorough job at any of it. I couldn’t understand why someone so intelligent would be so ‘Ho-hum’ about killing his own son, whether on purpose or accidentally. “Where did you leave him? Did you bury him?” I asked frantically.

He went on to explain that he had buried him up at the cabin where they stayed. I was desperate. I begged him to take me up to the cabin so I could check myself. I had to know for sure! I had to see my dead son’s face!

The dream moved on and strangely, time went by.

We arrived at the cabin and I leapt out of the car and ran to the cabin door. Strangely, as dreams go, my husband was ahead of me. He led me to the laundry room out on the back porch, where he hefted the washing machine gently out of the way. Under the washing machine was a mound about a head’s height above the rest of the ground and about as wide as the machine’s base. It seemed really strange to see where he had buried my son. “How could you bury him here under the washing machine? What were you thinking?” I said in a deranged huff.

I fell to my knees next to the pile of dirt. (Yes, this was a cabin and it had a dirt floor.) I looked up to my husband with tears streaming down my face. I begged him to tell me if he really believed that our son was dead. He gave me no verbal answer, but a shrug of his shoulders as if to say, “I don’t know.”

I laid my head down on the dirt mound. I tried listening for something, anything, as if I would hear something through the dirt. Wait! What was that I heard? No! It couldn’t be! I looked up again, and then put my ear back down on the dirt. I heard snoring! What the HELL?! SNORING? No way! “Listen!,” I said freakishly, “I hear snoring, breathing!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing!

I began digging, moving all the earth from the mound as fast as I could, but carefully! An arm popped out… and then there was my son’s head. His eyes were closed in that angelic sleepy way. I knew he was just sleeping. I continued digging. I dug until I found his shoulders and then I began gently pulling him upwards, out of this hole that he was in. As I pulled him out, he was unclothed. I thought that was strange because I knew that my son never ran around naked. I remember wondering why my husband had stripped him of his clothing to bury him… how strange!

As I pulled him out, he awoke with a look of relief and a smile on his face. I held him in my arms as I sat there on the ground. All I could do was wrap myself around him and tell him that I loved him. He hugged my neck and said, “Mommy, I knew you would come! I was scared and couldn’t breathe, but I knew you would come!”

I turned to my husband and asked, “How long has he been here?”

“About a week,” he said.

“A week! What were you thinking? He couldn’t breathe, he’s had no water! HOW…” and I went back to comforting my son.

I awoke from my dream… Strangely, I had no animosity toward my husband. I just got up out of bed and went off to my son’s bedroom. I woke him when I picked him up to hug him. I cuddled him as if afraid I would lose him if I didn’t hold him tight.

Dreams are strange... What can I say?