Dreams untangled

It was one of those dreams that seems so real that you find yourself wanting to wake up in the middle of it, just to prove that none of it ever really happened. And, then when you do finally wake, you have the fleeting wish to go back to it, just so you can somehow end it the right way or undo parts of the story that still nag at you.

In the dream, my 9-year-old son and I are on a road trip together when something goes terribly wrong. My son is put in a juvenile detention or perhaps foster care facility, unjustly, for something they believe either he or I has done. The entire beginning of the dream has me fighting to see him, fighting to have him released. Days and days go by of me doing this in what seems like a hopeless situation. My son is in some sort of camp with kids that I know nothing about. Kids who act in a way that frightens me, and definitely frightened him when he was sent there. It’s as if a part of my heart has been ripped from my chest and I’m desperately trying to find it to put it back in place again so that I can be whole. I just feel so terrified for my boy.

After long days of trying to get my son back from the misunderstanding, suddenly the warden has a change of heart and tells me that I can take him home. Tears running down my face, I thank her with a gratefulness I have not felt towards an individual in some time. I rush to get my son so that we can finally go home to our family.

As I go to meet him, I notice he’s playing happily with the other kids and getting along. That does not surprise me, I think to myself, because he can get along with pretty much anyone. I can’t wait to get his attention and give him the biggest mom hug that I can, having been separated in such a way for so long.

Only, he doesn’t seem that eager to rush to me, I think, as he finally catches my eye. A slight grin on his face, he nods and goes back to playing with his friends. So, I go to meet him instead. Once I get his attention and pull him to the side to talk, I tell him the wonderful news that we can go home. He is free and I’m so sorry that it has taken so long. I tell him I love him so much.

He shakes his head at me. He doesn’t want to go, he says. He likes it here. He and his friends are about to get McDonald’s for dinner again and he’s free to just play. I learn that any work that’s expected of him in the few hours of “school” time has been at a kindergarten level. Most of the children there are from broken homes where they have been neglected or have missed long periods of school. This work is easy and he likes it here better than home where he has to work so hard.

I feel what’s left of my heart crumble some more. He doesn’t want to come home to us? He likes it better here with these misfits doing nothing? What about all the years of soccer, flag football, scouts and fun things we paid and put time into? What about all the time we spent at our kitchen table doing science projects for school? Our family bike rides and game nights? What about his Dad and Sister?  If he doesn’t miss me, doesn’t he miss them? What about his neighborhood friends who have been asking and asking for him since he’s been gone?

I back away stunned, feeling sucker-punched in the worst possible way. The warden is looking on and smiles a knowing smile as if she knew this is what would happen all along–she had seen this before. The next morning, I go back and try again. No luck. He is not interested. He has chosen this over us. It is no wonder, I think to myself. At our house we have responsibilities. He has allergy shots and tests at school. He has to share with his sister and do things he doesn’t want to because someone else in the family has to. But, what about LOVE, I think? Doesn’t he love us like we love him? Doesn’t he miss “us” at all?

After a meeting with the warden, I am told that by law they cannot release my son if he does not want to go. He will need to spend his six months there, unless he changes his mind. Six months? I can’t imagine leaving him with these kids for six months! What would become of him? She escorts me away and tells me to call and write and she will let me know if he changes his mind at any point. Yeah, right, I think.

As I’m walking away through my teary eyes I catch sight of him playing there and I realize that he feels accepted here and that maybe he does not in our home. And, suddenly all my failures as a parent rush to the surface. What could I have done differently? Doesn’t he know how much we love him?

In the dream, the story flashes forward six months later and I’ve brought home my son finally. My body has withered away from the months of calling, visiting, and begging him to come home, only to be continually rejected. The worry has eaten away at me. Ironically, I’m finally the thin I have always wanted to be. Only, it doesn’t look right. I look old and sickly, not fabulous and svelte. My son begrudgingly comes home. I tip-toe around him, afraid to give him many chores and just so thankful to have him back.

But, when I look in his eyes, I don’t see him. He has been lost and what has returned is a different boy. Slightly overweight now from all the fast food given to him and overall inactivity, he is edgy and angry. He doesn’t play with his old friends at all. He is a teenager before his time and I’m left trying to catch glimpses of my beautiful and sensitive son who left me just months before. In a heated disagreement with his Dad, my son flips out a pocket knife and glaring waves it at my husband and the two of us exchange fearful looks.

Where is the boy who we raised? Only months have changed him entirely. Gone is the creative and fun ham who loved to put the radio on and make up silly dances to make us laugh. There is no longer the boy who drew fantastic pictures, loved to make funny presentations on his computer and could play for hours with his little sister even when she was being difficult. He has been replaced by a sullen boy who likes to go to his room alone, who even dresses different and eats differently. I’ve lost him, I think. After all of this, I have lost him…

—

When I awake, I wonder if this is what having a teenager is like. So suddenly they change and you’re left to figure out how to talk to them, to connect with this child who seems nothing like the one you’ve raised from infancy?

I am a believer that dreams can often be our subconscious mind trying to tell us something. And, sometimes, I think maybe it is even God’s way of telling us something.

There are things in my life that are shifting right now. I do not know how to stop things from the path they are on. And, I do not know if I’m supposed to walk the new path that is before me or fight to get back on the old one. And, if I do fight to get it back, would it be the same as it was before? Or is it already forever changed to me?

Once a lovely trail with flowers and rocks and the occasional pothole or large dip, would I arrive back to find the path overgrown with thorns and weeds and very difficult to navigate? Would the path be completely unfamiliar to me now?

Most of all, I’d like to know when I will untagle all this mess and know where God wants me to be…