This morning I had a terrible dream which featured Jason at two years old (he’s now 40-something). In the dream we were at some public event when an illness broke out in the crowd. Jason was ill. When the health professionals examined him they suggested that he be hospitalized.
Unfortunately, there was some mix-up and when Mr. Fixit and I arrived at the hospital, they claimed that he was never admitted. They lost my child! I was livid, scared, and all those emotions that a parent could have upon learning that her child was missing. A young woman was sent to placate us, and in the midst of her CYA speech, she made of the mistake was laughing at my fears. When she bent her head to hide her laughter, I grabbed her by hair and proceeded to slap her silly. I awoke.
These are the actual events that lead to my dream. Noah and Owen went to visit their other grandfather Saturday for their spring break. He lives a few hours away. After our daughter-in-law returned home, she received a telephone call from her father telling her that Owen was in the hospital with a possible broken arm. (Yes, again with a broken arm.) It turned out that it may not be broken, but they put him I a splint to await an exam by an orthopedist. Granddad R suggested that Jason and his wife not come and let him take care of the problem since Owen appeared to be in no pain.
The last two nights I have been reading a thriller about the abductions of children. Before I went back to sleep about 5:00 am, I was thinking about the character who had to inform the parents of the missing children that their children had been found murdered. I was contemplating the awfulness and stress on the officials who had this terrible duty. It must be one of the hardest things in this world to do.
I assume that these two real-life events somehow merged in my subconscious to appear in my dream. While resorting to violence in my dream is disturbing, I have to admit that it felt GOOD!