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Even though I am not able to be with her right now, I am so grateful for the wonderful telephone conversations I am able to have with my daughter who is expecting her firstborn, a son in the third week of April.  They are entering their 31^st week of pregnancy.  I have never been a grandmother before.  It’s all new, to all of us, to baby boy’s mother and father, his grandparents, his auntie and uncle.  I think it’s because of last night’s telephone call with mommy-to-be that the dream came to me last night.

Many thoughts crowd into my mind as I start to write about this dream.  There were two newborn babies, a boy and a girl.  There were two women.  But looking back on the dream as if remembering a movie I know these two women were really four:  My grandmother, my mother, myself and my daughter.  Between the four of us we took turns at being one of the two women in the dream.

There was no doubt in the dream that the boy newborn was loved.  He was not left to cry, alone, hungry, isolated in the dark.  He was cared for, picked up and held, swaddled in soft blankets and cuddled closely to the breast as he was fed.  I was aware that the tiny newborn girl was alone.  I could sense where she was, far away in the shadows of a big empty room.  If she was fed at all it was through a cold glass bottle propped on a rolled blanket laid beside her head.

I could FEEL the sad forlornness of the little girl, but I was powerless myself to reach her, or to in any way convince her mother to go rescue her from her living tomb of isolation.  Her mother shifted from being my grandmother with the baby being my mother, to being my mother and the baby girl being me.  The mother of the little boy shifted from being my daughter to being me, but the little boy, I knew clearly in the dream was going to grow and develop in a completely different way than how that little unloved girl would.

Although I cried and pleaded in the dream for someone to let me go get and breast feed the little girl, nobody heard me and I was prevented from going to find her.  I could only know she was there.  I could empathize with her aloneness of being lost in an unending huge world of dim shadows where nobody loved or wanted her.

The woman in the dream that lovingly cared for the newborn boy as she held him closely in her arms and fed him from her breast, shifted from being my daughter with her son, to being me with my son, to being my mother with her firstborn son, my brother who was 14 months old when I was born.  Even though I know my mother never breastfed my brother, in the dream I knew she was able to give him what he needed as if she did.

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I knew in the dream that both babies were equally needy, equally deserving, equally perfect.  I knew in the dream that it would not have mattered to that little girl who picked her up and held her closely, who gazed into her little tear strained eyes, who nursed and nurtured her, who touched her tiny hands and stroked her soft, smooth cheeks.  I also knew in the dream that the little girl, being treated with cold, hard, uncaring disdain from birth was not going to develop the same nervous system, body or brain as this well-loved and cared for little boy would.  I was able to see the end in the beginning, yet I could change nothing.

I think of this dream now on Valentine’s Day and know that there is no more possible picture of perfect love than that between a mother in intimate caring with her infant.  Next to this, there is no more perfect Valentine picture than that of SOMEONE, anyone, offering the kind of nearness and tender, loving care to an infant-child.  It’s not the picture of swooning and/or devoted adult lovers that comes into my mind today.  My dream made sure of that.  It is this picture of the perfect love that our species is designed to give to offspring, that can go so terribly wrong, that I see in my heart’s eye.

I also know that for all the efforts at healing ourselves that severe infant-abuse survivors participate in, nothing is going to undo the damage that being harmed during our earliest, neediest developmental stages did to us.  We have to include, without fantasy, denial or blame, the circumstances going back through the generations that created environments of deprivation and trauma to occur between mothers and their helpless, perfect infants.

I try to think of some adequate and accurate word I can use to describe a feeling that came to me both in the dream and in my morning’s waking, but the only one that sits in my mind is ‘gratitude’.  It’s not the right word.  I know it’s not.  It makes me think of the eight pound bag of delicious oranges in my kitchen that I would turn into juice if I only had one simple piece of kitchen equipment:  one of those little plastic or glass juicers.  I would simply slice the fruit in half, plop them onto this gadget and twist away until the juice was free and running.

There is nothing I can use for a substitute to make juice out of these oranges.  I looked in all the stores in the little town I live near yesterday and could not find one.  Searching for the word I want to describe how I feel about the fact that I could love my babies and that my daughter will be able to love her son leaves me at a loss.  Gratitude is only a tiny sliver of the meaning I want to portray.

I think of the word ‘awe’.  I think of the word ‘grace’.  I think of the word ‘blessing’.  None of these are the right word.  I wonder what word I could use to describe how I would feel at the instant I experienced safe passage after a near head-on collision at high speeds on a freeway.  ‘Relieved’?  ‘Stunned’ and ‘amazed’?  ‘Grateful’?

Any word I can think of seems only to be like the plastic external wrapping of an object that I would tear off and throw away.  I cannot think of the real word for how I feel knowing that it is so completely possible to not only not pass onto our offspring what was done to us, but to feel about and act toward our offspring through loving that is the opposite of what we ourselves experienced from the world around us when we were tiny.

At the same time ‘empathy’ and ‘compassion’ or ‘sympathy’ are completely inadequate words to describe how I feel for the little ones that are unloved, left alone, battered, neglected, abused, maltreated and traumatized.  For all the words we have in our language there are gaps where no adequate words exist at all.  There are times when I reach for words to describe how I feel and find them as missing as is an orange juice squeezer from my kitchen.

What I am most left with, then, is the word ‘recognition’.  I recognize the missing words by their absence.  I recognized the patterns of infant treatment in my dream.  I recognized the changes in how those patterns happened between my grandmother, my mother, my self and my daughter.  I recognize through my own research what the implications are for the developing body-brain of the most helpless and dependent and innocent and needy beings of our species depending upon the way they are treated from the time they are born.

I recognize that the most important element of human relationship is invisible:  the self.  I could see and feel the self both within the little newborn infant I held and nursed in the dream as strongly as I could sense the desperate, hurting self of the tiny newborn girl I could not reach.  I could sense the self within the shifting forms of each of the women in my dream.  Somewhere at the edges of my mind every term related to self I know scratches away at the truth of what this dream showed me.

From ‘self worth’ to ‘self esteem’ to ‘self centeredness’ to ‘selfishness’, every concept we might use to describe and explain how any human being is in the world is really first describing the relationship that each one of us has with our own conscious-unconscious self.  As we look at our most central relationship between our own self and our own self, we have to consider that everything we know is connected to how our ability to choose was formed within our body-brain from the start of our existence.

While I believe that how my mother developed from that maltreated newborn left alone crying in the dim, remote shadows of my grandmother’s world, and recognize that my mother’s powers of choice were consequently all but eliminated from her consciousness, I hold my grandmother accountable for her treatment of my mother.

I saw my grandmother in this dream as being self-centered and selfish, having made a choice not to love her newborn daughter.  I then experienced my mother without a choice in how she treated me.  I also saw her interacting with my brother, my mother’s newborn son, not as an action designed to foster the well-being of her son’s self, but in action to preserve her own self.  Perhaps if my birthing had not completely threatened the physical life of my mother (and her extremely fragile, ill-formed self), she would have been able to enact the ‘mother with her dolly’ roll with me just as she was able to do with my five siblings.

In some ways I am surprised that looking back it is to my grandmother that I attribute responsibility for what happened, in turn, to me.  I find that I believe my mother didn’t receive what she needed as an infant-child from her mother because my grandmother did not WANT to love my mother.  My mother did not give me what I needed and harmed me instead because she COULD not love me.

Somehow, in ways I do not comprehend completely, I had the choice to love my children and I did.  My daughter has the ability to choose to love her son, and she does.

What gave me the ability to choose to love my children?  Why DID I choose to love my children?  Why, if my grandmother had the ability to choose, did my grandmother choose NOT to love my mother?

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There was another level to this dream that I cannot recall or remember.  It had to do with seeing clearly that when an infant such as the little girl in this dream is developing a nervous system that is always caught in the ongoing scream of DANGER, something can intercede to sooth and change the direction this nervous system is developing.  I know in the dream that this soothing factor did not come from where it was supposed to come from – a warm and loving human caregiver.

It was something else entirely, but I cannot remember what it was.  It seems it was some innate human ability, that would lie within the range of possibilities within the infant itself, which can influence the development of the DANGER and DANGEROUS based nervous system (which would include the brain).

I am left with the sense that this ‘something else’ is a gift, that it creates a miracle within the developing infant that alters physiological destiny.  If such a gift-ability does exist, I had access to it and my mother did not.  Again, I come around full circle to the fact that the simple word ‘gratitude’ for my having received this gift does not come any closer to describing what I feel than would ‘compassion’ describe how I feel for my mother who did not have access to this gift.

I am simply left to question mysteries that I believe will be fully understood by infant-child developmental researchers in the future.  In the meantime, someone needs to do what I could not do even within my own dream:  get to and rescue the suffering baby.

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