Emerging

self-portrait
7.23.11

I took this picture of myself the other day. It seems to represent where I'm at in my grieving/healing; partly still in darkness but brave enough to step into the light, and longing to feel strong again.  It happened to be the day Rami would have been 9 months old.  

I love you sweetheart.

tears

"He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.  

There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain..." 

~Revelation 21:4

"... he will swallow up death forever.  The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces..."  ~Isaiah 25:8

He comes to me in my sleep

I recently mentioned that I’ve had a few good dreams lately, and that until now I’ve had only bad dreams since we lost Rami.  I may not have mentioned that many of my dreams have been about Rami.  In the beginning of this loss, I dreamt of him almost every night, and on some nights he was all I dreamt about.  In most of those dreams, Rami was far away or lost or in need and I was not taking care of him.  Sometimes I dreamt of being a negligent mother, letting my baby lie in a corner hungry and crying.  Sometimes I dreamt he was lost, and I didn’t care much to find him while others around me stared at me in disbelief.  I would wake up from those dreams with such overwhelming guilt and shame.  Some nights I dreamt Rami was drowning in a lake or swimming pool, or the ocean, and I would frantically search for him, diving deep and then coming up empty handed, gasping for breath.  Sometimes I would find him, pale-faced and cold, his beautiful little lips, the exact replica of mine, blue and lifeless, and I’d rush him to the surface in my desperate attempts to save his life.  I’d watch in horror and sorrow as I came to the realization, night after night, that my baby boy was gone and no matter how hard I tried, I could do nothing to bring him back. 

Sometimes the horror was not in the dream itself, but in the waking moments after sleep, for the dream itself had been tender and sweet.  On those nights, I dreamt of holding Rami, caressing his soft skin, his dark wavy hair, listening to the noises he would make while nestled up warm and close to my heart.  I would nurse him, and he would look at me with such pleasure and contentment in his eyes.  I have never in real life experienced my child’s suckle, but in my dreams I know the feeling full well. 

These days, I don’t dream of Rami every night, which is a good thing because it’s exhausting and I need my energy for other things.  I still miss him or think of him nearly every hour of every day, but I am learning how to function within this reality of being a mother with no child.  I’ve come to view my life in phases; pre-Rami, with-Rami, and post-Rami.  The with-Rami phase was short, but oh-so-sweet.  My pregnancy days were when I felt the happiest, most hopeful and beautiful of all my life.  But these post-Rami days, oh these days.  It’s a challenge, to say the least.  Every day is a challenge, and for more reasons than the missing my son. 

He comes to me in my sleep, but these days it’s mostly only in his sweetness.  And each time he visits, he has grown.  He would be almost 9 months old now, and that’s how I saw him when he came the other night.  He’s so beautiful and strong and healthy, and always hungry for his mama’s milk.  I nurse him, and in the feeding him I too am fed.  Those tormenting dreams have stopped for the most part, and I’ve realized now that when Rami comes, I can enjoy the closeness we have in that place, and when I wake up I don’t have to feel robbed or cheated or teased by my dreams.  I have come to understand what a blessing those dreams are for me.  They happen, interestingly, usually around the time of my period – the female body is so amazing to me.  I miss him more intensely around this time, and that’s usually when he comes to me.  I’ve come to see the mercy in his visits, and I am so thankful for God’s grace in allowing me time with my son.

I told Ghaith the other night of how our son visits me in my sleep.  I had hesitated to tell him, for fear that he would think I was just being silly or ridiculous in my missing Rami.  Ghaith’s reaction was actually very touching, and it helped me to know that although he doesn’t talk about his longings for our son like I do, he is missing Rami too.  

Aladdin's Castle Cafe is up and running!

Love and joy and good dreams for once

Ghaith and I had a really good talk this morning.  It was one of the rare times where we got to sleep in and wake up to a slow morning.  We talked through some issues we've been dealing with lately and as we found the common ground we've each so desperately been needing to stand together on, our conversation moved us to look to our future in a hopeful way.  As we talked, Ghaith took a pen and wrote something on his hand in his artistic and beautiful Arabic script, then wrote the same on mine.  I asked him what it was, and he said, "Amoot", which is Arabic for the kind of love that allows one to feel they would do anything and everything for the person they love.  It's what he and I say to each other when we're feeling affectionate and adoring and in love.  Since we were talking about our future, I asked him to write our future on my hand (Arab people like to talk whimsically about the future), and he wrote in English the words "love" and "joy" (which he spelled like the man's name Joey - he's still working on his writing skills in English).

I love that man.  I amoot him.

P.S. I've woken up two mornings this week from good dreams - GOOD.  Since we lost Rami, I don't think I've dreamt anything but sorrowful, scary and frustrating dreams every night. Waking up from good dreams is a welcome change.

The Poetic Anatomy

It's been 3 weeks since my last post.  Not that I haven't had anything to say, just that I haven't had to time to articulate my thoughts into written word.  And today isn't much different, but I want to put this quote up, which I recently read in the book I'm currently reading called Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.  I'll explain why this has touched me so, in a future post.  To keep it simple for now, it helps me to feel encouraged about the realness of Rami (and others who I've loved and lost)  in my life, past, present and future.

"Just as there exists in writing a literal truth and a poetic truth, there also exists in a human being a literal anatomy and a poetic anatomy.  One, you can see; one, you cannot.  One is made of bones and teeth and flesh; the other is made of energy and memory and faith.  But they are both equally true."