But this morning as soon as I woke up I just KNEW that today was June 13th and the 4 year anniversary mark of the worst day of my life. How? Dreams, or rather nightmares. Specifically the one I had just before waking of my baby girl, so tiny yet walking, escaping from me in a classroom as we prepared to go. Of someone allowing her to get out of the door. Of someone helping her step down the curb and into the school parking lot as I chased her as fast as I could screaming for someone to stop her. Of everyone looking at me and ignoring me as my baby girl walked faster than I could run away from me out of the parking lot and out of sight. Of me screaming all the while for SOMEONE to stop her and pick her up and save her. And of feeling so intensely mad and bewildered that not only did no one stop her but that so many people helped her along the way.
Then I woke up and knew, it must be June 13th. My subconscious knows even if I do not. And I am left with the imprint of that very vivid dream to go about this day. Were there unseen helpers aiding her escape that day? Did angels help her escape her high chair and across the hot cement and up the steps to the spa? More importantly, were angels there to help her and comfort her as she drowned?
No matter how healed I become and I do feel mostly healed, I will never like June 13th.