The absolute worst nightmare I ever had occurred during the first year of my oldest child’s life. I don’t think it is difficult to interpret, either, as I was clearly feeling that I would be an inadequate father.


among the trees and brush were dead children littered all along the ground.

The nightmare itself was me walking through the woods in bright daylight but there were long shadows and I was wearing some sort of weird plaid canvas jacket. But these weren’t your garden variety woods; among the trees and brush were dead children littered all along the ground. I suppose they could have been sleeping, but I seemed to know innately that they were dead, even though they showed no sign of trauma or of being zombies. They looked like they ranged in age from 1 to 4 or so.

As I walked further into the woods I realized I was carrying something in my arms: my infant son. The boy was inert, but I’m still not sure if he were alive or not, he looked peaceful but not pallid, so I’m going to assume he was alive. I’m also not sure if I were delivering him to this macabre forest or if I were rescuing him from it, but I realized that not only had I not moved in a while, but that I COULDN’T move; I looked down and saw that my feet and my legs up to my knees had been swallowed by the ground.

As almost always happens with my dreams, it ended before there was any resolution. Again, as far as the meaning, it has to just be fear of screwing up a kid, but I guess I’ll never be sure.

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