I'm not really sure if I've ever shared how I knew without question that was Matthew was a boy. My guess is, with my big mouth, I probably have.
But, in case I haven't, here's how...
I don't really dream much. Or, if I do, I don't remember many. VERY rarely does anything come to me in a dream, unless it's more of a nightmare.
But since I married John and we decided we'd start a family (ha ha...like we had any say in that....), I always thought I was going to have a little boy.
Honestly, that was a bit disconcerting because I desperately wanted a little girl. I wanted to have that sweet little Daddy's girl and a best friend in my old age. I knew girls. I was a very girly-girl. I craved that.
But I never dreamed about it. Through the years of infertility, I actually DID have dreams. Three or four, maybe five...the same dream, the same snippet. Always remembered, even though such a small glimpse.
In this dream, I was feeding my little boy. He was about 2ish, and he was eating a mess of spaghetti and he looked a mess! He wore a white shirt and and he was in a high chair. He had brown eyes and blond hair. I never called him my baby, nor really even spoke, but I very, very distinctly remember knowing his name.
Every time, it was Matthew.
When we were adopting, we preferenced a little girl. I remember at some point, even asking John if we should change to boy because I just felt like there was always a Matthew waiting for me. He said something to the equivalent of that I was being silly. By that time, we were pretty entrenched in a little girl, her nursery and who she was going to be and when she'd join our family.
So, it was, as most of you know, no surprise to me when EVERYONE thought Matthew was a girl and I was proven right at the anatomy scan. I have video of that precious day...telling John, "I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! I TOLD YOU!"
I had never been more sure of anything in my life that Matthew was the boy I'd dreamed about and God had finally given what I felt like He'd promised me.
Matthew is not a family name. There is no real connection to it, and honestly, I had never even looked up the meaning of the name. I just knew that in my dream, I'd been feeding a Matthew. Once we looked more into it, and saw how beautifully perfect it was, and how it fit so well with a family tradition of names, it was again as Providence just kept waving His mighty hand.
When I was about 5-6 months, I remember telling John I was sort of worried sometimes because in that dream, the same dream I had, I never saw that little boy over the age of two-ish. That scared me. He again said I was worrying too much.
In any event....last night, after several days of barely eating anything, Luke decided he was hungry again. I made spaghetti and loaded it with Parmesan cheese so he'd eat it and eat it, he did! He even asked for "more sketti, pease!" and I was so glad he was eating something real and nutritious (snuck tons of veggies and protein in that sauce!).
I was somewhat checking FB while he was watching Umizoomi (before you judge, know that part of his therapy basically includes us not really paying attention to anything while eating—him or what he's doing—and allow distraction so he eats and doesn't even realize it. One day we'll have family meals where we all talk and sing, but until he eats better, I do what I have to do to get him to eat.)
I looked up at him, and I literally stopped breathing for a minute.
I saw him.
I saw the little boy I'd dreamed about 3 or 4 times in the last 13 years.
He was right there in front of me, just like in my dream.
I mean JUST like in my dream.
Friends, my kid does NOT like his face to get dirty. With food, that is. He RARELY makes any sort of mess on his face with food and when he does, he immediately wants it cleaned. Not last night, though...
I got chills.
I got hot all over.
I got choked up.
I teared up.
I of course took pictures.
I still now am a bit....dazed?
I don't know what the word is. I don't know what to make of it. It is very, very obvious that he is NOT Matthew.
Was this dream of mine given to me to let me know it was always going to be LUKE that I fed? Luke that I raised? Luke????
What in the world?
This is why it's so, so, so wrong to tell ANYONE to 'get over' their grief. There is no getting over it.
Even the most simple, mundane of activities can make one's heart literally skip a beat...open a can of "What??? What??? What does this mean? Why? I don't understand!!!!" faster than one blinks.
And yet, very real every day.