One night, my husband and I got to talking about what our first memories were. He told me this cute little story of how he fell in the living room and hit his head on a rocking chair. As his dad was driving him to the hospital, his dad told him to keep pressure on his cut or else his noodle will fall out.
My first memory isn’t so cute.
It’s something I still can’t really get a grasp on.
I was three. I remember waking up in the middle of the night. I was tucked in between my parents- because that’s something kids do. My first memory isn’t actually me waking up in the middle of the night but it was what I woke up from.
I had a dream.
And to this day, I still remember it.
I dreamt my whole life up until I was three. To that exact moment in my life when I woke up in the middle of the night, tucked in between my parents.
I think about this often. Many times I wonder if I had actually dreamt it or if it’s something that I have just kept replaying in my head. Like that one part of the movie you keep on a loop.
Since then, I have questioned many times if what we’re going through is just one big trance. As if in the end, we’ll wake up and our lives were lived through dreams.