Last night I had a horrible dream. The worst kind of dream. I dreamed that Brayden died.. I don't need to tell you how disturbing that dream would be for anyone, let alone someone who's already lost a child. I woke up with my heart pounding in my ears. The image of it still burning vividly in my mind.
Fortunately, I wasn't awake for long before Brayden's cries from his bedroom got me out of bed. Reminding me it was only a dream. It was just shy of 5 a.m. I brought him to bed with me, and we slept, cuddled together, for about another hour.
It's no surprise to me that I had this dream on this weekend. My mind's way of saying, "Sorry. Not enough room to keep shutting this shit out." This is Ryan's weekend. 2 years ago I could tell you exactly how I was spending my Labour Day weekend. This was the weekend he was born.
Fast forward to later this afternoon. We broke a bowl. It shattered when it hit the tiles. I didn't even flinch. I moved Brayden safely out of the way and set to work picking up the pieces. How's that for a metaphor?
September 7th might not fall on Labour Day weekend this year, but Labour Day weekend will always remind me of the time that we too shattered into a bits and pieces and then began the journey of trying to put those pieces back together.
In less than one week, it will be two years. The real countdown to the 7th begins on this weekend. So much changes in one year. My Labour Day weekend looks different this year. As it looked different last year from the year before it. And on and on I assume it will go. But I'll always be thinking of him when Labour Day rolls around.
Especially that weekend 2 years ago.