Dreams of P

Last night, I had a dream that I’ll carry with me forever.

In it, I was holding Presley. Really holding her like I never got to. Not through hospital blankets or medical wires. Not surrounded by machines or tubes. Just me and her, finally. Quiet and close. Skin to skin. Like I always longed to do but couldn't.

There was no noise. No machines beeping. Just P and mommy.

Turning Page by Sydney Rose played softly in the background. It felt like something sacred. I can't tell you why this song, but it felt right. For the first time in 6 months, everything felt whole and I had that physical connection I'd always wanted.

When I woke up, I was hysterically crying. I think part of me wanted to stay in that dream forever. It reminded me of that scene from The Haunting of Hill House, where the woman believes she’s dancing with her late husband, only to realize she’s alone in an empty house. That’s exactly how it felt, like my arms were still wrapped around her, but she was already gone again. As if she was only allowed that brief moment with me.

I want to believe it was more than just a dream. That maybe it was her. That somehow, she found a way to me. And even though waking up broke me, the thought of a possible visit from her makes me smile. Like she somehow found her way through time and space to get to her mama.

Grief is cruel. But sometimes, it gives us little gifts. Glimpses of what's to come in eternity when it is my turn to meet her there. Reminders that heaven and earth will not break our bond.

Last night, I got to hold my daughter. And for just a moment, everything felt okay.