Wish I May, Wish I Might

Do you ever want to do something so badly, even though you know it is absolutely 100% impossible? Don't get me wrong, I think a lot of things are possible, just about everything. But sometimes I get this crazy idea in my head. This yearning to have all my babies together, all of them the same age. Mathilda is going to be 2 in a couple weeks (unbelievable!), and I love this age. I love the cuddles and the hugs and the emerging vocabulary and independence. I love how she climbs all over me with no boundaries whatsoever, squeezes my legs in her little arms and beeps my nose. I miss Bethany, Connor, and Lucy at this age. I hope I hugged and kissed and cuddled them enough. I just want them to all 4 climb all over me and smother me with the affection of a 2-year old. I want to look at them all at the same stage of life and just drink in the sight of them and absorb their touch with all of my being. Sometimes I think maybe I'll be able to do that when I've moved on from this world...maybe I'll gain the ability to manipulate time and re-live whatever I want, in any order or combination.

Here they all are at (or close to) age 2...

Mathilda

Lucy with Grandpa

Connor

Bethany

There's other things too, like this desire, deeply rooted in my soul, to see every corner of the earth. Sometimes it feels like just leaving this state is an insurmountable hurdle. I know there is no way I'll ever see everything I want to see. I want to hike through a rain forest and drink hot chocolate in Spain and walk along the Great Wall of China and wander around the ruins of Machu Pichu and see the Egyptian pyramids and a million other things, some of them much closer to home. I think of my grandparents, who went to Europe a few times when their kids were grown, and I think that it's possible to make dreams into realities. And then I wonder if, in the next world, I'll be able to see every single thing I wanted to see in this life and never got around to. I wonder if it would be like seeing everything through a sort of cloudy mist, like it's there but not tangible.


Many years ago, I had this dream. People I knew who had died were in my grandparents' backyard, and I knew they were there and they knew I was there but they were sort of in a fortress with an invisible shield around it. It reminded me of a transparent version of the old tent my grandma and grandpa used to set up in the yard sometimes to air out. Their presence was a small comfort, just to know they still existed, even though I couldn't touch them or truly be with them. I had that dream at least 10 or 15 years ago, but for some reason it has stuck with me all this time. I think sometimes our dreams tell us things we need to know. Sometimes we get the message and sometimes we don't.