I drove up to the Creche, hot and sweaty, the bus had no air conditioning and I was having trouble breathing in the stale, Haitian heat. When the doors open, the kids and their nanny’s came pouring out of the small building in front of me with smiles on their faces, but I was only looking for one. The face of my boy – my son. I picked him out immediately, shiny skin, damp with perspiration, a big grin and tears running down his cheeks as he saw me – his manman (mother in Creole).
He jumped into my arms, there was a lot of noise around us, laughter and happy squeals as other parents around us met their children for the first time. He whispered in my ear that he had been waiting a long time for me. I pulled back and kissed him on the forehead and told him I had been waiting my whole life for him! We spent time sitting on a bench together talking and giggling, holding hands and hugging constantly while he told me everything I could possible ever need to know about him.
I knew it was a dream, he spoke perfect English; my beautiful child will not. He was also older, maybe 6 or 7, and my child will be under 3. But even though I knew it was a dream, it didn’t damper the elation I felt because this child, this beautiful little boy was mine and I loved him instantly.
Waking up with a damp face from tears I was sad and upset and immediately felt a part of me was missing, a pain in my heart that was so real it kept me paralyzed for a brief moment until I realized my alarm was going off.
It was time to start my day.
But what a dream…it was a really good dream.