In My Dreams

I had that dream again, the one where my daughter is “typical,” “normal,” “developmentally on target,” whatever you want to call it. I know several parents of children with special needs who’ve had it at least once.

In the dream, I wake up from a deep sleep by a tug on my blanket. Then I hear a quiet voice say “Momma, uppy” as little arms reach for for me to pull her into bed. At this moment, she is still the daughter I know, the one with wild curls, the sweetest face and the soulful eyes that will level you. Except apart from the girl I know now, she actually walked into our room.

I leap out of bed and call for Evan and Ellie. No response. No one is there except for Cooper. Apparently, in my psyche, my dog is always there. Mira smirks, clearly aware that this is not the norm and confidently struts around the house one foot in front of the other, as if she’s been walking for months.

I instinctively reach for my phone, in an attempt to record this feat, but it is nowhere to be found. It is now clear to me that this is a moment just for us.

I didn’t want to wake up from this dream. It was so real. I could actually feel the relief, both hers and mine. I could feel her strength, her pride and her joy.

But I had to wake up because it was a rainy Thursday morning and Mira had physical therapy and speech therapy and she is 2 and she still needs me to carry her 28 pound frame everywhere. This is where we are.

I told Mira about my dream as I brushed back her messy hair into pigtails while she devoured the banana on her plate. I told her about the dream and described how well she walked and how fast she was and how cute her little tush looked as she navigated her way around our home.

She listened as if she was taking notes for the future.

I know there will be more dreams. I also know that beyond my impatience, frustration and aching back that she will walk someday soon. She has the ability. Some children do not.

I have not lost my perspective on this.

Not for one waking second.