Nearly every night when I put her to sleep, I sing Somewhere Over the Rainbow to Sophie. I've been doing it since before she was born. When I was pregnant and in a deep, deep grief, I decided that it was important to spend five minutes every night focusing just on her and nothing else, and showing her that despite my sadness, I loved her. I don't know what exactly made me choose that song at first - in the beginning I sang a variety of songs, but that one just stuck. I remember that I liked it because after Ryan died, I thought of "Over the Rainbow" as being a place that I could see him again, and a place that Sophie could meet him. It was somehow a comfort. I sang it to her on the morning she was born, and she looked at me in awe, as if to say, "I know that song". It was our first moment of real bonding.
Over time, she's learned the song well enough to have a favorite part. I watch her face every night, and I can see that no matter what she's doing, the song gets to a certain point, and she'll stop and watch me, waiting. Then, her favorite part comes, and she smiles. Her favorite line?
"And, the dreams, that you dare to dream, really do come true".
You may think I'm imagining it, but I'm not enough of an optimist to make that up. When I noticed it, several nights in a row, I thought to myself that perhaps in her little child's mind, she is excited that her dreams may come true. More likely she just likes the sounds of the words. But, it got me to thinking how great it is that Sophie can have dreams, she can dream anything she dares, and maybe those dreams will come true.
And then today I had an unexpected thought. I have dreams.
It's the first time in many months that I've realized this. It may be the first time in over a year since it's been true. When Ryan died, my dreams were destroyed. My entire future, wiped away in the course of an hour. In fact, because of the ridiculous shock I was going through, it took me a long time to even realize how many of my dreams wouldn't be a reality. I kept trying to cling to something- some shred of the future I thought I was going to have. But over time I realized that it was all gone, and that I couldn't hope and dream for the same things anymore. Ryan was at the center of every one of my dreams, and without him, how could I have those things? I'll never have a family with him. We'll never move into a bigger house, and have everyone over there for Thanksgiving dinner like I always wanted. We'll never renew our wedding vows in Europe, or go scuba diving in the Caribbean, or open an Irish pub when we retire. I'll never get to see the pride on his face if I decide to finally go back to school. The list goes on and on.
What then? When your dreams go away, what do you live for? For me, it was, and still is, my daughter. But I know that I need to find something to hope for myself as well. While I've known that for a long time, most of the time, it feels just impossible. And even if I do manage to hope for something or look forward to something, I'm immediately confronted by the immense mountain that I would have to climb to get it. When you've lost as I have, optimism is terrifying. It's been incredibly difficult to try. What if I climb back up from where I am, and fall again? What if the universe decides to take from me again? I'm not sure how I could make it.
Not only has it been difficult to hope, but I haven't know what to hope for. Having lost the old dreams, I never replaced them with new ones. My hopes had been limited to the health of my family, my daughter, and her chance for a good life. Today though, when I was leaving work, I started thinking about how I'd love to be able to make writing more a part of my life, perhaps even a living one day. It seems unlikely, but it doesn't mean I couldn't try. And all at once, I realized that I had a dream. Then I started to realize that I had a few of them. Mostly little things, but they still count. And Sophie's lullaby just popped into my head, out of nowhere. "The dreams, that you dare to dream...", and the bright smile on her face. Those of you who know my daughter, or have seen pictures, know the light in that smile. For just a minute, I thought that maybe when she smiles at that moment in the song every night, it's her daddy, smiling through her at me, letting me know that I can still dream. Again, more likely she probably just likes the sounds of the words, but that little thought may be the single most optimistic thing I've thought of in over a year. It's not like me.
I'm still horribly sad, most of the time. I'm completely devastated that the dreams I had with Ryan won't come true. Even when I think about having new dreams, and I get excited about them for a moment, the next moment is filled with an aching sadness that Ryan can't be in them. I wanted that future. Not the one I'm trying to scrape together now. I'd give up every seed of a dream forming in my heart now if it meant I could have Ryan and those dreams back. Of course though, I can't. But maybe, if I try, I might have some of the other things I'm just starting to hope for.
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