I had that dream again—a familiar one where my son embodies the essence of “normal” or “typical,” whatever label you prefer. I doubt there’s a parent of a child with special needs who hasn’t experienced a similar moment at least once. For me, it has happened countless times.
This particular dream was unique; he appeared as a teenager. My son is only five, but perhaps binge-watching too much of Speechless paired with sleep deprivation catapulted me into a future where he’s older.
In my dream, he lies asleep in a magically transformed queen-sized bed. I step in to wake him for school. At first, he remains the same little boy I know—one with cerebral palsy and limited speech, reliant on a wheelchair for mobility. I carry in his clothes—jeans and a sweatshirt—ready to help him dress.
I gently nudge his shoulder, only to watch him roll effortlessly beneath the bed—a strange feat for a typical teenager. I squat down to see him better, and he pushes his hair from his eyes, sighing, “Mom, give me a minute!”
Dreams like this often take two paths: my son is miraculously typical and has never faced any challenges, or he has just awakened from a long slumber, free from the injuries that led to his cerebral palsy. This dream belonged to the latter scenario.
I rushed from his room, calling out for his dad and siblings, but the only one present was my mother. In my mind, she’s always there when I need support. She rushes in, and together we watch as he saunters toward us, embodying the essence of a typical teenager—slouching in a plaid shirt and jeans that were not what I had laid out for him.
Yet, he still carries my heart. He smiles knowingly, aware that this moment is extraordinary. A half-wave escapes him as I rush toward him, tears streaming down my face. My mother collapses in a theatrical display, fanning herself as if in the presence of a miracle.
“But how?” I ask, bewildered.
He shrugs casually.
“No, really?” I grasp his arm, suddenly aware of how tall he has become. I must look up to meet his gaze.
“I don’t know. I just woke up this way.” He beams at me with that sweet two-dimpled smile from his five-year-old self, patting my arm gently as if comforting an elderly lady.
As the dream fades, it shifts into a starkly realistic conversation with his pediatrician, who expresses concern that such an abrupt change might be more alarming than beneficial. Meanwhile, my son—now walking and talking—relaxes on an armchair, enjoying a bowl of cereal.
I didn’t want to wake from this dream, for it felt so vividly real. But reality called; it was Monday, and the anticipated snowstorm never materialized. My son has preschool and speech therapy waiting for him; he is five, not fifteen, and this is our reality.
I shared my dream with him as I laced his shoes over his leg braces while he munched on Cheerios from his tray. I recounted the entire dream, the height he reached, and how he listened attentively, as if cataloging it for the future.
I know more dreams will come, and I will never cease to hope that one day they will become reality. One day, he might stand taller than I do. One day, he may express his thoughts with ease and clarity.
Resources for Parents
For those interested in home insemination, this blog provides useful insights and resources. You can read more about it in our privacy policy. Also, check out this site for an excellent overview of various fertility options available. If you’re looking for quality fertility kits, this authority can help guide your journey.
In summary, dreams hold immense significance for parents of children with special needs. They reveal our deepest hopes and aspirations for our children, reminding us of the possibilities that lie ahead.