Stories, Dreams, and Memories

Dear Ravi,

I found this quote yesterday and thought of you.

“Do you have a magic spell to return someone to life?” she said.

“No” the witch said, “I am sorry.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t you tell me about them?”

“Will that bring them back?”

“For us. For a little while. Stories are a different kind of magic.”

Ravi, stories are magical. You know that. I read to you before you were even born, weaving a nest of words to bring you safely into my arms. Today, I am a weaver of words to hold your memory alive. Stories and dreams are richly intertwined. There was a dream specialist named John Sanford with whom I am greatly enamored. He was a priest, a doctor of sorts, and a Jungian. He had a daily practice of writing down his dreams as soon as he awoke for the day. For the past 6 months I have diligently taken up this practice and the results are amazing. Did you know that God speaks to us through our dreams, via all sorts of symbolism, memories and mystery? This is not just the stuff of the Old Testament but is true even today. Follow me below the jump.

For the last 4 years of your life, I had the same dream, over and over. I was swimming in a deep blue peaceful ocean. The waves gently rocked and cradled me. Suddenly, I realized that something was amiss with my left arm. It was crooked and bent at an odd angle. I could not use it to pull me through the water. The waves were no longer gentle but rough, and I struggled to make any forward motion. I was in deep water and very afraid. At this point I always woke up. After you died, I never had this dream again. I was looking through my notes and the symbolism of the dream suddenly hit me. You were an avid swimmer. You loved the water. The cancer first began in your left humerus and spread. After your second surgery, which added 6 months to your life, your left arm was bent at an odd angle, and you could no longer swim. The ocean was the waters of your baptism. The struggle was the cancer within you. The water, in itself, was not evil, but the cancer deep withing your bones was. The two together were wrestling for your soul, for your life. I have not been studying dreams very long, so this is my vague stab at an interpretation. Others may see it differently. Last night I had another dream. You were in a school program that was not right for you, and you were very unhappy. You could speak, but only through echolalia. You were worried about bad things happening and were trying frantically to tell me. Suddenly, teacher Sonia show up. She said that this was the wrong setting for you, but she would take you into her class immediately after Christmas. I agreed that this was a good idea and said that I would pull you out of your current program immediately as the current class was not serving you. I sent you home on the bus and stayed to fill out some paperwork. On the way home I saw an airplane overhead. Suddenly, it was engulfed in a bright light, it burst into flames, hit the ground and exploded in a ball of fire. I knew that we were being attacked by Iran. I left my car and started running to a school. I did not know what school it was, but I knew that it was safe. In the school I huddled in a stairwell with many of my former coworkers from Risen Christ School, where I had taught when I was pregnant with you. Anna Marie and I hugged each other, the same as we had done on 9/11. Students began streaming into the building. They were not my Risen Christ students, but my students from Our Lady of Lourdes School, my first teaching position in 1997. Some of the students were uninjured, others were gravely hurt. 5 of my 8th grade girls were packed into a container marked Biohazard. They had been contaminated by a toxic substance and were about to be shipped to a hospital to be decontaminated. I could wave at them through the portal, but I could not touch them. Their limbs were broken and twisted. I woke up with a start.

Some parts of this dream make sense. Ravi, your safety and the safety of Mercury has always been my top priority. The safety of my students came next. The threat of an Iran invasion is very real right now. I do not know why I was surrounded by teachers and staff from nearly 3 decades ago, but I knew that they were important to me and that I had to protect them. Safety is paramount to any parent or teacher. The parents who sent their little girls to school on that fateful Saturday in Iran thought that they were keeping their children safe. The teachers in the school tried to keep their 178 students safe. When one alarm went off, they vacated the building for what they thought was a safer place. Tragically, they died as they lived, protecting the children in their care. All that is left is 200 graves, where mourning parents met every evening of Ramadan, to weep, to pray, to remember, to wonder why such evil had to attack such innocence. Ravi, I have no good answers. The question of theodicy is older than the story of Job. Those of us who are left behind weep, we mourn, we remember.

Yesterday was an amazing day at church. I helped teach Sunday School. We talked about Lazarus and Jesus calling him forth from the dead. We did an art activity, using salt and watercolors to make a tear. At church I sat with some friends and soaked in the beauty of the music and the liturgy. Afterwards, I slipped downstairs to visit you. I want to leave you with one final thought. Recently, I read an essay by an Episcopal sister who was also a head nurse. One of the younger nurses came to her in great distress. She said that she had been praying fervently that one of her patients would be healed. Despite her prayers and ministrations, he passed away. She asked her superior why God had let this happen. The elderly nun replied that her prayers for her patient had indeed been answered. God had gifted her patient with eternal life. He had been risen from his body into the full Communion of saints, martyrs, and all who had died. He could never die or be ill again. This was God’s greatest blessing to him. Ravi, you too received this blessing. When you took your final breath, I knew that you were gone. I opened the front door to let your spirit fly free. You no longer inhabited your frail, sick body, you were born anew. This does not mean that I do not greatly grieve your passing. You are my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night. Your name is always on my lips and in my heart. I live to tell your story as a weaver of words.

Stories, dreams and memories. These are things that we carry with us on our journey. These are all that I have left of you. I wish that I had you here with me, but I know that you are someplace far better than we can ever imagine. Ravi, I miss you more than words can tell. I will continue to share your story by being a weaver of words. I love you to the moon and back. Yours forever, Mom.