Dreams as Therapy

That fateful day in September dawned gloriously; the southwestern sky was ablaze with color, full of promise for a beautiful day ahead. The kind of morning I would usually savor, but this was the first day of a new job, no time for daydreams. As I dropped my five year old off at kindergarten sunrises were not exactly on the top of my list. Sierra was having a rough time adjusting to full day sessions and now mommy was starting a new job. “Now remember” I said for the tenth time “Your sister will pick you up after scho..” “Yes, Mommy you’ve told me! I know already!” Sierra whined interrupting me. “I’m just worried about you baby, I’m sorry. Give me a big hug and I will see you when I get home”

As I waved goodbye to my beautiful little girl tears welled up, as they usually did. She seemed so little, so young to be trotting off across that huge school yard unaccompanied. This is not the first time you’ve done this I told myself as I pulled out into the busy Tucson traffic. Sierra is the youngest of five children, all who are adults now with their own lives. Besides, I was on my way to a new job and needed to focus on that and the heavy work traffic around me.

Of course it didn’t take long at work to realize that a horrible tragedy had just occurred. People were coming by the operator’s desk where I sat, to talk to my trainer about the events that were unfolding on the television in the break room. Like most people that day I was thinking of loved ones and thinking seriously of getting my daughter from school and heading home to protect her. Now in hindsight I wish terribly that I had done just that. Instead, thinking of practical matters I finished my day at work and thought of distractions I could use to keep my daughter away from the television for awhile.

In the end it didn’t matter, at 2:30 pm I received a frantic call from my older daughter. It seems that when she picked up Sierra from school the five year old was in a highly agitated state. On the short two block walk home Sierra wouldn’t take her eyes off the sky. She had told her sister that she had seen planes crash into buildings and dead bodies falling to the ground. Upon reaching our apartment she ran straight to her bedroom closet and hid there, that’s when I received the call. I immediately left work and raced home to my distraught daughter trying to get a handle on my own emotions. I was outraged! How could this have happened? She was at school, supposedly in a protected environment. What were they thinking? At the same time I was overwhelmed myself at the scenes I had witnessed briefly on the news reports.

How could I explain all this to a five year old? Sierra was not your ordinary kindergartner; she was the youngest of five kids and had grown up in a houseful of adults. She had kicked her bottle when she was nine months old because no one else had a bottle; she walked at ten months and by twenty months was talking in sentences that anyone could understand. Still, it was impossible to know what I was facing until I saw her.

When I arrived home my mood was cheerful on the outside and I hoped my true emotions well hidden. After coaxing her out of her closet, I suggested we go for our daily swim, trying to keep everything as normal as possible. Well she was having none of that, at the mere suggestion she went into fits screaming for me not to go outside because planes would drop bombs on us. Further suggestions of any activity outside the apartment were met with the same reaction. After spending hours trying to calm her I finally got her to bed for the night, school the next day was certainly out of the question.

No one slept that night, Sierra had nightmare after nightmare, all the same, planes dropping bombs and crashing into buildings. The next day I called the school to try and find out what happened. Apparently the P.E. teacher was going to show the class an exercise video. When he turned on the TV he was shocked by the images and didn’t think to turn it off as he was in the presence of a roomful of five year olds. I was assured by the school administration that it was no big deal; the other kids thought it was a movie; no other child was affected by it. Bull! I thought, kids these days are a lot smarter than people give them credit.

The school was trying to protect themselves, I understood that, but I was an outraged parent with a distraught child, So I pushed and I pushed the school for answers and finally I got a chance to talk to the man himself. I’m ashamed to say I wasn’t very nice. How could he I raged! Did he not know where the power button was? Why didn’t you turn it off I yelled? To his credit he apologized over an over but I wasn’t buying it. So I took out my frustrations on him and the school district. My child was hurting, she wouldn’t leave the apartment, she wouldn’t go to school, what was I to do? Much later, I was to learn my daughter wasn’t the only child affected and finally the P.E. instructor was let go.

Following the school’s advice I started taking Sierra to a child therapist, as a single parent it was one more expense I couldn’t afford. After unsuccessfully getting the school to pay for the sessions I had to drop them, they didn't seem to be working anyway. The only place my child felt safe was cuddled in my arms. She continued to have nightmares, all with planes and bombs dropping on the house, her school and everywhere she went. I was at a total loss as how to help her. The stress from lack of sleep and the ache in my heart from watching her pain was taking its toll on me. By this time all the patriotic colors were flying and people were decorating their cars and houses red, white and blue. An idea took root in my mind.

All this time Sierra had been kept away from television and news stories, so I could tell her my version of things. We sat down and I explained that yes, bad things had happened as they sometimes do. That bad people had caused them and now it was time for us to go after the bad people and put them in jail. We talked about school colors and how they compared to the colors of the flag and what patriotism meant. The idea of “showing our colors” and letting people know we wanted to catch the bad people appealed to her. So we decorated our apartment, she colored flags; we put red, white and blue ribbons all over the car. Then of course we had to go out in the car so people could see our colors. It was a start in the right direction. At least now she would return to school, and go out places, as long as she didn’t see a plane or hear a siren.

Weeks went by and the nightmares continued, something had to be done. One day while cleaning I came across a little fairy statue from an old collection. I used to be into fairies and had collected several over the years. Also, having been an artist for years I suddenly knew what I had to do! That night as I held her in her bed I started telling her a little story. “There is this land I know of,” I said softly and dreamily, “It’s a beautiful, safe fairy world where nothing bad ever happens”.

Sierra immediately picked up on it, “Does it rain there?” she asked “Only soft showers that water the flowers” I replied, “the kind you like to play in.” As her eyes grew wide I knew then I was on the right track. “There are no planes, nor trains, nor cars there” I crooned. “The little fairies ride on the backs of winged horses that have tiny little hooves that make no noise in the tall grasses. Or on a butterfly’s great shiny wings.” “I love this place Mommy” she whispered. “Can you see it? Are you sure?" I asked, "Only special people can see the fairies”

As I laid there with my daughter I built a perfect fairy world in her mind, with tall flowers, winding streams, laughing fairies swinging on flower swings. It was truly a dream, not just the story but the effect it had on her. Since it was getting late I told her that she would have to finish the story in her dreams. “How Mommy?” she asked. “Easy, you know the little yellow fairy that is playing in the water?” “Yes, does she fall in?” she giggled? “Well I don’t know, that’s what you have to figure out. So go to sleep and see what happens to her” I said “And now in the morning I am going to expect you to tell me the rest.” With that I crossed my fingers and left her to sleep and what I hoped would only be good dreams. To my surprise I was not awakened once that night by her cries!

The next morning she was eager to tell me that the little yellow fairy had indeed fallen in and was carried to the waterfall by a big shiny seahorse! With more relief than you can imagine I sent my almost happy child off to school. As the days went by we continued the stories, inventing more and more fairies. We would name them after family members to increase her bond with them and give them characteristics of that person. My favorite was the little yellow “fat fairy” our first. She was created after my then 18 year old daughter, she was clumsy and funny and always getting herself in trouble. Each morning there was a new installment from the previous night’s adventures and a brighter look on my daughters face. Eventually, I decided to paint a mural on her wall to depict the fairyland and all our little fairies. That way at night as she went to sleep she could envision the world better. Months went by and slowly but surely the bad dreams went away and it became more and more good ones.

Now, she is ten years old and barely remembers anything about that time, except for the fairy dreams. Which of course is what I wanted all along. I really can’t say that my “dream therapy” was what saved her, and pulled her out of a terrifying time. It could have been just the passage of time itself. What I do know is that it helped the two of us create a bond that can never be broken and gave me precious memories of our life together. We have talked of writing the stories down in the form of a children’s book one day. I did write a poem about it which I dedicated to her. She is much too busy these days for such stuff and totally obsessed with horses now. . I think though, I might just have to put those stories out there, maybe they will help another child through a difficult time. Or maybe, they will just help keep the innocence in childhood that this cruel world drains away everyday.