Susan Senator

I had a dream about Nat last night. He was wearing his navy blue blazer and tie, and he was giving a talk about some royal succession, some very dry, complicated thing, complete with drawing on the blackboard. I remember gasping with surprise that he could do this and feeling so nervous that he would not be able to really do it. Here he was, speaking in complete sentences, finishing thoughts, connecting dots, and all so believable, because he still sounded the way he does, with his “th” sounding like an “f,” etc. Saying “feem.” But he even said something like, “Oh, this next part is kind of retarded,” and again, I gasped, to think he would use that word, and sound like every other kid, but also, what did this mean? That he couldn’t possible be retarded, if he could do this!

I woke up so sad, so very sad. How badly I want him to be able to talk like that, to really shine like that! A mother’s selfishness, or dreams and desires, never really die. We wrestle them to the ground and we reshape them according to reality and life’s limitations, but every now and then they just spring right back to their original form, as if we hadn’t touched them, like our beach pop-up tent.