So, I’m lying awake in bed with my daughter trying to perpetually nurse unsuccesfully, unable to go to sleep, when…
Suddenly I am driving down the Southeast Expressway (93 South from Boston). If you have never been in a crash on this road you might not realize how treacherous it is. But then once you have you realize why so many people you know have gotten in crashes there. Anyway, the problem is that I’m driving there, holding my BABY DAUGHTER on my shoulder, AND falling asleep at the wheel. I coast along for a while, semi-confidently *visualizing* how the road goes, with my eyes CLOSED, when suddenly I jerk them open in panic, realizing how dangerous it was that I was sleeping at the wheel, not to mention while holding my daughter. I realize I need to get off the road as quickly as possible when just as suddenly the road takes a sharp downward turn to the left. Next thing I know I’m careening down this curved driveway into the parking lot of a marina. I pull into a parking spot at the last second, and seem to have barely managed to stay on dry land. I look out and my car is in the last spot on the dock. The dock is sinking slightly under the weight of my car, and my tires are starting to be a few inches underwater. I open the door to step out, thankful the car is still above ground, but when I start to step out, the car starts sliding all the way into the water. As we start to go down, I close my eyes and simply say to myself, “Oh, this is happening. I save my baby now.”  I take a deep breath.  We are going down, but the door is open. I grab my baby by one arm and one leg, and start swimming and kicking up to the surface with every shred of my intention, as the car and everything I had with me sink down behind me below. In that moment there is nothing in the world but me and my baby and swimming for our lives up to the light. There is also loss (of the stuff), but in the face of terror it is easy to accept.  There is something oddly peaceful and purging about a situation so absolute.  The grief is somehow dignified when you know exactly what to do.  It’s too life threatening to panic.  Then I wake up.  My daughter is safely snuggled up beside me in bed.  THEN I start bawling.