Memories are like a dream.  I know that for 22 months I dreamed about a little boy who took possession of a part of my soul that simply completed me in a way that words cannot adequately describe.  In my memories, Rees, born with a true knot in his umbilical cord – a cord wrapped around his neck twice, defied death and entered the world undaunted.  The more I recall this dream, the more detached I find myself from its narrative, a spectator, not a participant.  It’ s as though I see some alternate version of me, an avatar of my real self,  lifting Richie, singing to him, cradling him and telling him how much I love him.   From afar, I see little Rees growing from a plumpy, buddha-like baby into a skinny, yet solid, little toddler – filled with curiosity.  In these memories I witness the dream-like version of … Read More