I had a dream the other night. That, in itself, is noteworthy, as I
almost never remember my dreams. I know I have them. I must.
According to doctors and such, every healthy person does; and,
occasionally I'll open my eyes with a fading fragment just passing
away, like a wisp or the glow of a pretty sunset. This has been
normal for the vast majority of my life, so when a dream passes into
the waking realm with me, it's a thing worthy of mention.
But that's only part of it. This was a wonderful, comforting dream.
As people may know who have read this this phlog before, or who have
heard "Palaver", my audiocast, I have a Special Needs son. His
problems have kept him out of school and away from most social
situations that kids of his age take for granted. Essentially, he's a
shut-in.
Now, unless you've gone through this as a parent, you can't properly
imagine the fear you can possess for your child's future. the dread
that the rapidly approaching teen years can conjure in you. That's why
this dream was so wonderful: in it, he was a normal teenage boy. With
a new girlfriend, and the ability to participate in a fun afternoon,
laughing and swimming in the sunshine. That was it.
What I took away from this, less than the fantasy and hope it
represents, was a subconscious reassurance that it will all be fine.
That, despite all, at least part of me feels the future, and my boy,
will take care of themselves. Now, it's one thing to receive hopeful
views of these things from outside sources -- even supposedly
knowledgeable ones -- and quite another to get them from oneself.
Unbidden hope. This is the finest gift I may have ever received in my
entire life, and I gave it to myself.
As the days grind by, and I find myself lost in the trench wars once
again, I'll be able to look back on this with kind eyes: knowing that a
father's hope for his son still survives somewhere in the midst of
disaster may actually be a balm in and of itself. During the dark
times to come (and I'm no fool to expect his adolescence to be than his
childhood in any way), this glimpse of an alternate timeline -- one
that may yet intersect with us -- could prove to be the only thing I
have to cling to in those desperate days.
Receiving a package of such hope from a man who, by any rational
measurement of my life, can only be counted as my worst enemy, is
ironic to say the least. But the true enemy in this conflict is
despair. That cannot be forgotten. And if the fantasy of a troubled
boy's rosy future is enough to count as a victory here, even a small
one, I'll take it. I'll take it gladly.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
(c) 2011 lostnbronx
CC BY-SA 3.0
lostnbronxATgmailDOTcom
