Last night I had a dream that I think could be a memory.. I’ve had some strange dreams, but this one felt like a real memory.

In this dream I was a little girl, two-three years old and I was at my (maternal) grandparents home with my mom and I was screaming my head off. My little blond, curly haired self was screaming in pain while the adults around me were yelling at each other.. I felt so scared and I could feel so much pain. My grandpa was adamantly yelling to my mom and grandma that they were wrong, they were making it worse and it would never heal that way, my mom and grandma were saying “ that’s what the doctor told us” and he kept saying “ it won’t heal like that!” All the while I’m screaming.

~ My grandpa passed away from a heart attack when I was almost 8 years old, I was young, but I remember him greatly and he was my most favorite person. He was looking out for his granddaughter with much resentment to seeing me in that pain. In this dream I felt his love again, it had been so long!

In my dream I remember looking at my hand as my mom and grandma were trying to carefully remove the layers upon layers on gauze, wrap and tape, with my hand in and out of a bowl of water, I presume to help with removing the bandages. That’s why I was screaming. Each time the wrap was being pulled, my skin was coming off with it. My grandpa couldn’t take it. He repeated while pacing around me “ do not wrap it back up, it will not heal that way!” He was upset and angry that I was going through this. There was a moment when they must have finally gotten all the wrapping off my hand and I looked down and saw my hand and I let out a horrible scream. It terrified me. It was so raw and bleeding and swollen.

And then I woke up!

When I woke up I instantly sat up and looked at my hand and thought “ is this a real memory?” When I was two years old my grandma had her ironing board at the foot of the bed where she was ironing, I was always told that I was jumping on the bed, my grandma turned around, I lost my balance and fell forward landing with my hands flat on the ironing board which jolted the iron to fall forward on top of my right toddler hand. My grandma said I didn’t scream… it must have been shock, she turned back around and saw the iron on my hand and instinctively ripped it off, taking with it the skin of most of my hand. 1st, 2nd degree burn is what they said I had. My mom told me it took two years to heal, so until I was about four years old. Endless wrapping and unwrapping, infection, doctors… it took along time. As I’ve aged the scar no longer covers my entire hand, but a lot of it. It does cause me issues in the winter months still and some arthritis has set in. I’ve never been self conscious about my hand because it’s always been there. In school some kids thought it was cool, others called me “ skeleton hand” but it didn’t bother me, because frankly, it’s not pretty. My boys each at their own individual ages asked me about the scar. They each thought it was horrible that it had happened to me, but as boys also thought it was a cool scar! Definitely in the shape of an iron. Oh and yes, I’ve went through life with wrinkled clothes… 🤣 and failed Home-Ec class in high school because I absolutely refused to iron. I guess it did impact my life more than I realized..

I am fourty-five years old and have never had any memories of that day or the healing years. I remember being older and having to take extra care of it in the winter months. If it got to dry my hand would crack and open and bleed. It is painful and an issue I’ve had all my life. I have an ingrained fear of irons. I don’t want to see one, ever. The times I have been unfortunate and seen one I have an instant startle, stop, back away reaction as if it were a rattle snake getting ready to strike at me. It’s a permanent instinct to fear them. And I can understand why. I’ve always been so thankful that I didn’t have memories of that day because I didn’t want to imagine how much pain that would have caused, but it seems my minds-eye is insisting I remember.. and I don’t like it.

I share this because it’s so much like what we go through after the trauma of losing our child. We want to remember all the good things, memories, occasions.. not the awful circumstances of our child’s death, but our minds keep taking us back. Is there a reason? Do we need to suffer and face these things to heal? Is the wall in which our mind uses to hide all the bad memories just simply not strong enough to hold it all as we age? I wonder?

As I sit here and ponder while repeatedly starring at my hand now.. I wish all of you a great week! We must sometimes take the bad with the good on our way forward! In a pretty startling dream, I also got to remember my grandpa’s love and protection! ~ Bad with the good~!

Sending my care, prayers and understanding to all those just doing our best in our grief! 🥰🦋

Sincerely, Angela, KennyBugs Momma! 🦋