I dreamt about my daughter, Zuzu, last night. In life she couldn’t talk. My dream revenant of her asked me something in my dream. It was good. I cried after I woke up, just gently and regretfully. I regretted the end of sleep, and her dream departure.
The thing is that I don’t dream about Zu very much. I’ve not slept very much in the last four months, maybe three hours a night, broken, often downstairs so as not to wake my wife with my meandering and the jerking of my nerve damaged limbs – I’m told these will improve. So when I do dream about her, I appreciate seeing her again.
In my dreams many of the physical problems she’d had in life are gone: she can talk (she has quite a mellifluous voice, strange but joyous in a nine year old girl with a developmental age of 18 months), she can sometimes walk or run. Last night she was even able to sit up when she asked me the question that I’m can’t quite remember this morning.
Then, as I was going to answer, something in the waking world started to exert itself on me. One of the cats or the dog moving around, the Spring light coming through the curtains. But the last thing I remember about the dream was that she was lost again, taken away by two other people to a beach or the Royal Easter Show.
The show may have been the trigger I suppose. It was the last time we managed to go out with each other. We met a lamb.
I hope I see her again soon.