I do not ever dream about Michaela. But last night I had a dream that touched me deeply. It was odd, and Michaela was both herself and not herself, and the circumstances were different and odd, but it filled my heart.
In the dream, I was running around town and I got a call from my younger daughter telling me that Michaela was missing. In the dream, I already had a missing child. When I went home and was trying to make up missing notices to post on the internet, I noted that it seemed unbelievable to have this happen twice, and I already had police officers and contacts with media people.
Then just a short time later, the same day, Michaela came home. She walked into the house and I saw her. I saw her face, and she was older, late teens or early twenties. Her hair was somewhat darker, but still blonde. She had a beautiful, slightly sheepish smile because of the worry she had caused. She said she had gotten locked into a laundromat and hadn’t been able to get out until now.
But it was the feeling of seeing her that was so striking. I thought I would never see her beautiful face again, and there she was, and I drank her in, and I held her in my arms. I kept trying to take photographs of her, but for some reason I kept fumbling and not getting the pictures. Michaela went on about her life, happy and beautiful and kind.
I went down to some docks later in the dream. I wanted to walk out to the end and just sit there. The docks were right across the Bay from San Francisco (earlier I had been in a parking structure there trying to take a photo of the city all golden in the sunset). I don’t know what the significance of that is, but it stood out.
That’s about all there was to it, but I woke up with the sweetest, saddest feeling. To have seen my daughter’s face again, to have held her in my arms. To know she was okay.
Michaela. Her name a breath, a sigh.