The Pre-Natal Fishbowl − April, 1977
When I was 11, my parents told me that I would be getting a baby brother soon. I was thrilled and a little nervous. I was not sure what it really meant for me. My mother’s belly swelled, a daily reminder that my life would change in unimaginable ways.
Then I caught a cold. I remember a stark and lonely moment when I could see my mother sitting on her and my father’s bed, but I could not go near her because I was sick. This was my first taste of not having direct access to my mom. That night, I had a terrifying dream.
A somewhat murky fishbowl sat before me. It was just like the fishbowl I had in real life, except that it held some murky substance instead of two goldfish. In the dream, I accidentally tipped over the fishbowl, spilling its entire contents onto the floor. It was with great anguish and guilt that I realized that my baby brother had been growing in that fishbowl. I had just destroyed him.
The feelings of guilt and anguish were overwhelming. I feared my parents’ wrath, and believed that they would see I’d done it out of jealousy. I also felt anguish at having lost the brother I so eagerly anticipated.
Even as a child, the dream’s metaphorical form was not lost on me. I understood what it was about. Awake, I was relieved that it had only been a dream, but feelings of guilt remained. When my brother was born, I was overjoyed (see Best Gift Ever). I don’t recall ever being jealous of my baby brother. I was far too wrapped up in him to miss any time with my mom that I might have been losing.
I have never forgotten about that dream. I had one other dream involving the death of my brother, but it was as an adult. I awoke from that dream with tears streaming down my face. It took me a few minutes to stop crying, even though I realized I’d been dreaming.
The power of dreams is astonishing.
Then I caught a cold. I remember a stark and lonely moment when I could see my mother sitting on her and my father’s bed, but I could not go near her because I was sick. This was my first taste of not having direct access to my mom. That night, I had a terrifying dream.
A somewhat murky fishbowl sat before me. It was just like the fishbowl I had in real life, except that it held some murky substance instead of two goldfish. In the dream, I accidentally tipped over the fishbowl, spilling its entire contents onto the floor. It was with great anguish and guilt that I realized that my baby brother had been growing in that fishbowl. I had just destroyed him.
The feelings of guilt and anguish were overwhelming. I feared my parents’ wrath, and believed that they would see I’d done it out of jealousy. I also felt anguish at having lost the brother I so eagerly anticipated.
Even as a child, the dream’s metaphorical form was not lost on me. I understood what it was about. Awake, I was relieved that it had only been a dream, but feelings of guilt remained. When my brother was born, I was overjoyed (see Best Gift Ever). I don’t recall ever being jealous of my baby brother. I was far too wrapped up in him to miss any time with my mom that I might have been losing.
I have never forgotten about that dream. I had one other dream involving the death of my brother, but it was as an adult. I awoke from that dream with tears streaming down my face. It took me a few minutes to stop crying, even though I realized I’d been dreaming.
The power of dreams is astonishing.
