Perchance to Dream

In and out of consciousness, the next few days feel like a dream. You understand only snippets of what you are told. You are in the hospital. There was an accident. Beyond that... it's not as though you can remember nothing of your life, like amnesiacs in sitcoms, but rather that the rest of your life can't penetrate the haze that clouds your mind. What you do know, deep inside, is a profound sense of loss.

Something happened after the accident. In the brief moments of lucidity, your mind instantly goes back to something you can't describe properly, as if you didn't have the vocabulary. It was as if you were more, if only for an instant, than you have been, than you could be. Then it slips away from your conscious mind, the morphine kicks in, and you float away on a river of confusion.

When you are finally able to fight of the sleep for any significant amount of time, the sense of loss is dulled, but still present. Your doctor, an older man with acne scars that he must have carried with him from his youth, informs you that you should make a full recovery, that your concussion is healing, that your ribcage, while cracked, will stitch itself together. He also informs you that your aunt is in the next room, also on the mend.

"When can I see her?" you ask through a raspy voice.

"One step at a time, Mister Alexander," the doctor smiles, "Let's see if you can stay awake for more than twenty minutes before we let you out of this bed."

His advice, it turns out, is sound. Within minutes of him leaving the room, you slip off again. This time, however, it feels different. No longer are you floating in confusion. Instead your dreams seem to have more structure, more order. In fact, every dream feels familiar, like an old friend. Your **** mind surrenders, and you allow the dreams to take you where they will.

There's the dream where your mother is shopping for groceries while a younger you are sitting in the cart, engrossed in playing with your new doll.

There's the dream where your high school crush has asked if you'll go steady with him, giving you a promise ring, in which you answer with a hot and heavy make-out session.

There's the dream where you're singing softly to Emily while you breastfeed her, an intense sense of bonding and intimacy growing in your heart.

Each dream pulls you deeper and deeper, a feeling of knowing. These are not the dreams you had experienced previous. There are no stress dreams of forgetting to wear pants, no wet dreams of having sex with your teacher, no flying, no fleeing. These are more than dreams. These are part of you. Only, they aren't.

On waking, the dreams dissipate, but the sense of loss has faded more as well. Maybe you just need a good sleep. You feel encouraged. Soon enough you'll be back on your feet and ready to get your life back on track. Things are looking up, and you are certain that nothing else will go wrong.