Normally when I dream, I don’t remember much—just the feelings that linger when I wake. But this morning was different. I had the strangest, most vivid dream, one so real it pulled me out of sleep with a phrase echoing in my mind.
In the dream, I had started working at a maternity clinic as a researcher-in-training. Part of my role was to observe deliveries, study every detail, and even dissect the placenta and blood after birth. On my very first case, tragedy struck—the mother died, and the baby nearly did. We immediately began examining what had gone wrong. The head doctor, a man, and his female assistant guided me. More than once, I watched them quietly lay their heads down and cry, before softly resuming their work, murmuring their findings as they went.
Eventually, the dissection ended, and it was time to move to another room. I cradled the baby in my arms as we walked together, the atmosphere heavy and solemn. To comfort her, I hummed softly as we went. Once we arrived, I was told to lay her in a man-sized shoebox and gently unwrap her. The female assistant stepped forward, prayed over the child, then turned to me with urgency in her eyes and asked:
“Do you want to turn your memory of a bad day today into a day of rest and relief tomorrow?”
The whole room—including the baby—seemed to hold its breath, waiting for my answer. Tears welled up in my eyes as I whispered, “Yes, please.” At that, everyone wept. Even the sleeping baby had tiny tears sliding down her cheeks.
That’s when I woke up—those words repeating in my mind over and over. It was about 5:30 a.m., and though I tried to drift back to sleep, the phrase kept jolting me awake until finally I got up and wrote it down.
Most of the time, my dreams vanish without a trace. Only once before—when I was 11—did I have a recurring one vivid enough to stay with me. I don’t fully know what God was trying to tell me through this dream, but I do know I want to hold on to that phrase. I choose to believe it. I will trade my hard days and heavy memories for days filled with love, rest, and peace.
Sparkling Escapades Abroad with the Fairy Bra Mother 