dreaming with my unborn son

to all the girlies who have had that pregnant dream lol

First, I’d like to start off by saying: this isn’t me claiming to be correct or real or absolute. This is just my truth. This is how I choose to see the world.

I believe that time is happening all around us, all at once. What that means is that I believe at this moment, a Victorian child is being born, and at the same time, someone is passing. We, as humans, are only able to view time as linear in this dimension, but everything has happened, is happening, and will happen.

I also believe in divine intervention. I’ve been through a lot in the spiritual sense, and though I’m still searching for my grounding, I know that I’m being watched over. When I don’t have the strength to carry on, I believe that there’s something—or someone—there, stepping in when needed. This, for me, was one of the biggest signs of my life. Call it a glitch in the matrix, or divine intervention, but it’s something I’ll hold onto forever.

With all that being said, back in September, I had a dream. Now, I’m naturally a lucid dreamer, but this one was different. It was beyond lucid; It had to be real.

It took place at my local mall, but it didn’t feel normal. It was off, like it existed outside of time, and no one else was there. As I walked through the mall, I saw a boy, about 5’10”, maybe around the age of 20. As soon as I saw him, I don’t know what came over me, but I whispered to myself, “My son.”

I started calling out to him, yelling with all the conviction in the world. And then, he turned to me and said simply, “Mom?”

The moment he ran to me and hugged me, I felt something I can’t describe. You know when people say you’ll only understand a parent’s love when you experience it yourself? Well, when his embrace met mine, it felt like a piece of my soul, a piece of my heart that I didn’t know was missing, had returned to me.

I repeated over and over again, “My son, my son.” And when I let go of the hug, I held his face in my hands, wiping away the tears that fell from his eyes.

He said, “I recognize you from the pictures you would show me from when you were younger.” That meant my present self was his past, and he was seeing me as someone from his memories.

I saw both a little boy and a man in his face. As he wiped the tears from mine, all I felt from him was love, kindness, and gentleness—everything I hope to be, and everything I hope to leave behind. He radiated pure goodness, and I felt this overwhelming peace, knowing I had done at least one thing right in this world. I am not perfect, but in that moment, he was.

He had the same olive skin as mine, dark mahogany hair that curled softly, and the most tender brown eyes. His smile was beautiful, and he was the most beautiful boy—my beautiful boy.

We sat down on a bench in the mall. Later, when I returned, I found that the bench was in the exact same spot. We sat there, hands always intertwined, talking. I can’t recall what we said; it felt muted, like it wasn’t meant to be heard, and that was okay with me. Just being there with him was enough.

At some point, he said, “Mom, it looks like it’s almost time for me to go.”

A deep sadness washed over me because I knew what that meant—I had to let go of a part of me that I had longed for, a part that I had never really known, but always felt missing. My son felt that sadness too. He said, “Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll meet again soon.”

He then reached into his black jacket and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to me and said, “I wrote this for you. It’s meant for you to read in the future, but I know you. You wouldn’t be able to wait that long. So, when I go, you can open it.” That simple observation felt like a gift. It wasn’t just that he knew me; it was that I was understood.

As he left, he said the words that haunt my soul in the most beautiful way: “I have to go now, but I love you so much, Mae. I can’t wait for you to experience all the things that we lived through together.”

After he left, I looked down at the envelope and saw the name “Imas” written on it… I still don’t know what that means or why that was the only word I remembered. I opened it, just a bit, but felt my body starting to wake up. I begged myself to stay, just a little longer. But as I flipped open the letter, I woke up completely. I tried to drift back, but it wasn’t like any other dream. It felt like a memory, one I could relive over and over, but never truly return to.

Now, when I close my eyes, I can still see his face—the sweetness in his eyes, the love in his smile. Every night when I lay my head down, I pray that I’ll see him again, even if just for a moment. But I know the next time I see him, it’ll be when he’s in my arms.

I believe my son was truly there, in that moment, when a mother and son who needed each other found a way across time. Our bond was stronger than any laws of time or space. We found our hiding place together, one where nothing else could touch us, just like we’ll have one day when he’s older and hiding from monsters under his bed.

I could never see my future before, but now, I know what I need to get to, and that I need to hold on for him. I know that someone needs me. One day, it’ll all make sense when I hold him again.

Until we meet again, I’ll live for you.