Last week I had a dream that I went to Israel to watch the World Cup final (lol) between Mexico and Greece (Mexico won). But after the game, in my hotel room, I found a door to a hidden passageway. I followed the passage until I came to a flight of stairs that led to another door (kind of like Harry’s route to Honeydukes in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban). Through the door was a small blue and white café and standing in the middle was a little girl with braids. When I walked in, she told me that she needed to wash her hands but couldn’t reach the sink. I picked her up and helped her wash her hands. Then I told her that I was going to daven at the Kosel but afterwards we could go to the Crayola Experience which was on the top floor of the hotel. Then I woke up.
Yeah, weird dream. But it felt familiar. I often have the feeling that my children are waiting just beyond my grasp, their presence a part of my life. They come with me when I travel. They’re with me when I read picture books to myself. I see them in the school supplies section at Target. I read the children’s menu when I go out to eat. I can’t write a list of life goals without including the things I want to do with my children. So close yet so far. Yet so close.
