But what lingers in my mind now is her one story of how during a dream she had seen a child running across a field. Just a dream, she said trying to dismiss it easily. Then paused. It wasn't that easily dismissed because this time it was different, it had felt real.
Apparently the child had appeared before in different ways - always a little older - as if growing in her dreams.
What is it? We wondered together. What is it when something that is definitely imaginary, unworldly, insists on running through our dreams and then living through the day as well?
If if feels real - is it real?
And then - what if we decide to allow it to be real - what then? Who is this child that feels like family but doesn't have a name, a child that has no source, no birth, no name, no place on earth to run freely so it chooses dreams?
Let's rephrase that:
If she feels like family - might she be?
Is there a child in my friend's life, - that isn't a child - that remains a child - that she loves as a child? I wonder.
And then she remembers - there is a child in her life that was never seen - snuffed out before it could come alive. Not in her body - but someone close. What if it is this child?
The room suddenly feels warmer as we remember this child - the love and anticipation of this child.
Perhaps the child does need to be born - to grow - and live in our imagination. Why not let it live?
Is there a name?
She finds the perfect name - and then we cry.
Our tears are real. Our emotions are real. Our love has become real.
The child has become real.
Everything you can imagine is real. Pablo Picasso