Oh, life. I know now that lack the necessary ability to shield myself from the things that are the most painful that we all must experience in this life. I lack the necessary spirituality is perhaps a better way of putting it. Because of this, I have a rather pragmatic, but nonetheless torturous view of the big subjects, like death and love and happiness.

My daughter woke up in the morning after a particularly traumatic nightmare and I heard her voice down the hall as it stammered to get out those few words right upon waking, those panicky words that will pull your consciousness back to the real world where we wake up in the morning. The morning is always the best part of any day, in my opinion, because it is a new beginning.

“Mom,” she said with a shaky voice that I remember hearing a lot when she was a toddler but not so much these days, now that she’s a tween and all. “I had a dream that you died!” “Oh,” I managed in my own sleep fog. “Well, I’m alive and well and trying to sleep.” But she was really crying to the point where it made it difficult for her to breathe. “Come on and sleep in here with me,” I told her. And she laid down next to me, all five feet seven inches of her.

We both laid there thinking about the ramifications of my death on her life. Not a pretty picture. I’d always known this. Single parents are in a continual panic about what would happen if. When you provide everything for a child you know that you would do some serious damage to their lives if you died, and yet we all know how unpredictably terrifying life can be. We all know that we can die suddenly, without warning, and for no “reason” other than the fact that we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or we did something careless we shouldn’t have done (drive without a seatbelt).

So I thought it would make her feel better if she knew that there were others who could care for her should I die. I have two sisters and a best friend who could raise her, all three would be good options. And she has her father out there in Italy, the one she has seen a couple of summers but who is kind and responsible.

Look, I didn’t want to go there. But you can’t have everything, right?

No. No, you can’t.

We learn that one the hard way.

The bad dream set her up for a day of melancholy and silence. We were invited to a pool party that she had been looking forward to — and suddenly, she backed out of it. She insisted that we don’t go. The girls wouldn’t include her in their “group,” she figured. So much sadness and fear all at once.

I didn’t push her to go because she is only 12. That is the beginning of what is a really difficult period in any girl’s life. It is not that surprising that she has her first “movie star crush” right now either. All things combine to churn in our psyches, and eventually they shape who we are as adults.

Looking back on it, we could have gone to the pool party if I’d had the bright idea of bringing of a friend of hers along. Of course I didn’t think about that until it was too late. So much of the time, it feels like I figure things out way too late.

I had one. You know those really vivid dreams that you’ll end up remembering forever? I once had a series of dreams that were so god-awful and terrifying, it sent me into therapy for five years. They were a series of serial killer dreams. I couldn’t shake them. But it’s been years since I had one (I think I had one during my last hideous relationship, though). Anyway, so in my dream I find the perfect apartment. It has everything I wuld ever want – a balcony, a yard for my cats , hard wood flooring, gorgeous tiled kitchen. And it isn’t just any old apartment – it’s unique and full of interesting things like lofts and stained glass windows. So I find out that it’s recently on the market and no one else is interested in it so far. But who should walk in? Princes William and Harry. They wanted to buy it. I mean, can you imagine? I would have no shot up against those two, who would? It was nice to meet them in my dreams – William was very smiley and Harry was, of course, smoking hot.