I had never run so fast in my life.  Even interval treadmill running to the motivating sounds of Guns n’ Roses in my ears couldn’t compare to chasing my 3 year old son across the entire length of the park.  I was in a full out sprint, my feet barely hitting the ground before moving to make room for the other one that was following close behind.  I could feel the sweat trickling down my back and I had to stop for a minute just to catch my breath from laughing so hard.  The momentary pause vanished as quickly as it had come when a high pitched squeal and giggle from in front of me had me propelling myself forward again as he darted from tree to tree singing a song in that melodic preschooler tone of “you can’t catch meeeeeee.”

Oh?  But I could.

I caught up with him in seconds and effortlessly gathered him in my arms and swung him around and around until we were both so dizzy that we toppled to the grass in fits of laughter and gasps of exertion.  As his cherub like giggles quieted down into soft snorts, he looked up at me with wide eyed innocence that I hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Mommy, how’d you get to be so fast!”

I couldn’t help but smile down at him, the warmth of the early summer sun illuminating the mop of blonde curls on top of his head into some sort of a makeshift halo.  I felt the same heat coat the back of my neck and couldn’t resist a chin lift up to the sky.  The brightness clouded my vision and I had to squint.  I could feel his eyes still fixated on me, so with the sun beating down on my face I answered him as honestly as I could.

“I’ve always been fast, son.  That’s my job…to always be one step ahead of you.”

“Where did you learn?”

“The mommy book.  Every mommy gets a book on how to be a superhero.  We can run fast as the wind, jump as high as the moon and make everything better with just a band-aid and a kiss.”  Yeah, I know…even *I* didn’t actually expect him to believe that line.

To my amazement, that answer seemed to satisfy him and he excitedly stood up, his short legs wobbling backwards until he was finally able to steady himself enough to reach out a tiny hand to me.

“Will you teach me how to play soccer, Mommy?”

Jumping up from my reclined position in the grass, I bent down and quickly scooped up the ball that had been resting beside me.  Throwing the ball up in the air, I watched his amazement out of the corner of my eye as he intently watched me bounce the ball on my knee and then extend my leg and kick it across the field.

“Wow! You’re good, Mommy!”

I couldn’t help but let a little pride show on my face.  “Yeah, well, your old Mom is still quite the athlete.”

With another squeal, I watched as he took off down the freshly mowed grass after the rolling ball.  For what seemed like hours, we took turns kicking, running, passing and moving the ball down the field for a goal.  I could feel the sun beating down even hotter on our skin, but I wasn’t worried.  I had covered him in sunscreen and thought the brightness could do us both some good.  I looked down to see him wipe the back of his little hand across his forehead to catch the beads of sweat as the dripped down his temple and curled his already damp hair.

“Mommy, is it lunch time yet?” 

Yep, typical man.  Food and sports. Checking my watch, I shrugged and glanced across the park the families having picnics, their blankets all spread out like a woven tapestry across the field of green.

“Soon, son.  We had a snack earlier….we’ll be fine for a little while longer…besides, your sister’s softball game is about to start and I haven’t missed a game all season!”  His head wobbled up and down on his shoulders as he nodded in agreement.  Bending down, I turned my back towards him and nodded my chin in his direction.  “Hop on, cowboy…let’s go for a ride.”

Amidst his hoorays and yelps of approval, he took a running start and landed on my back with enough force to knock the wind out of me.  As his hands clamped tightly around my neck, I leaped off the ground and made horse trotting sounds as I galloped my way over to the ball field where a very proud 5^th grader stood, her catchers mask in place as she adjusted her knee pads.

“Hi Mom!  I’m the starting catcher today!  Me!  Can you believe it???”

Ruffling her ponytail, I smile as she rolls her eyes and smoothes it down right behind my hand. “Of course I can…I see how hard you work at practices!  You’re the best catcher they’ve got!”

I just stared at her as she flashed me one of those rare pre-teen smiles.  I had heard they existed but I had never actually seen one. Within a heartbeat she had run back to her team’s dugout.  Taking a seat on the metal bleachers, I sit back and just smile.

It had been the perfect day.

It had also been a dream.

As I woke up this morning, drenched in sweat from yet another mid-sleep body temperature change, I couldn’t stop the familiar droop of my shoulders and long disappointed breath as I realized I had the same dream again.

I dream it often.  Too often.  I wake up filled with hope and smiling.  I honestly do wake up smiling.  I had almost forgotten what a smile felt like.  Reaching over to turn off the alarm, I fight back the sadness that I knew was inevitable.  It always followed the smile.

It was always a dream.  In my dreams I can do anything.  It’s the lonely harsh reality that reminds me that outside of that dream, the scenario would happen much differently.

I wouldn’t be chasing after my 3 year old.  A few feet of running and I would feel as if my chest were on fire, incinerating from the inside out.  I would be gasping for breath and feeling my heart rate pound in my ears until I could hear nothing else.

I wouldn’t be scooping him up and swinging him around as if he were light as a feather.  My knees would never allow me to bend down like that…and even if I managed to somehow get down there, I’d need a forklift to get me back up.  And swing him around?  Forget about it.  One half rotation and the vertigo would knock me down to the ground quicker than you could say “dizzy”.

I wouldn’t be playing soccer….or any kind of sport that required standing, moving or kicking.  Actually, anything that required more effort on my part than blinking was pretty much out of the question.  Even if I could bring my leg back far enough to kick the ball, my knee would get wind of what was getting ready to go down and put an end to it all by imploding and becoming the 3 year old’s newest fascination of pressing into the fluid and seeing how long it took for the skin to pop back out.

I wouldn’t be putting off lunch.  Medication must be timed perfectly…taken too late or too soon and I would have to find the nearest trashcan to lean into for the next hour or so. Medication can’t be taken on an empty stomach, so I must be prepared with snacks…always.  One time of forgetting to prepare my purse could result in a trip to the Rheumatologist.

I wouldn’t be carting him around on my back like a baby monkey.  The snapping vertebrae and increasing spine curvature would crumble me like a house of cards.  Sometimes it’s even too much to cart my own body weight around, much less someone else’s.  My son has never had a piggy back ride with me.  And he never will.

I wouldn’t know it was my daughter’s first time as starting catcher.  I wouldn’t know because I hadn’t been to any of her practices or games.  My body just wouldn’t allow it.  Five minutes of sitting on hard bleachers would be paid back in full with 4 days of bed rest.  I hear about the home run she hit as she comes home that night as sits on the edge of my bed, telling me highlights of the game I missed….of the games I would always miss.

Some people dream in black and white.  Some people dream in color.  I dream in memories.

Article written by Senior Editor, Stephanie Kennedy.