as i entered the dream i knew that my daughter was dead. she had been gone for several days. i don't know how she died, i don't know why we hadn't told anyone else, i don't know why we chose to bury her in the garden instead of contacting the authorities. the thought that eventually someone might ask me where she was when they realized she was curiously absent did not cross my mind. i was, instead, simply sitting on the couch, rocking back and forth, and repeating her name endlessly under my breath. we had friends over and none seemed to notice she wasn't there. my husband was walking around the house looking shell shocked but trying to keep it together for the gathering we were hosting. my son was outside, presumeably to play, but i knew he was actually just sitting on the wet grass under the dogwood tree, staring.

suddenly, my old cat, bagheera, strolled into the livingroom, looking fresh and white and beautiful as always. this would not have been unusual had he not also died, last december. he casually leaped up into my lap, curled up, and began purring. tears sprang to my eyes as i began to pet him. he showed no trace of having been dead for nine months, or of having been buried in our garden. i cried out, "leon! leon! it's bagheera! look! he's alive, he's okay!" leon glanced over but wasn't the least bit interested in coming to see his newly ressurected cat. i was still stroking him and staring at him in wonder. how did this happen?

then we heard it. "mommy..." at the front door. "mommy..." the sound of little fists knocking and her sweet little voice. "mommy..."

i jumped up, letting the cat drop to the floor, and dashed to the front door, opening it to see my small daughter, not dead, not dead, not dead, but alive! relief coursed through my system and i bent over and swooped her up into my arms, looking her in the eyes. she was smiling at me. she also showed no sign of having been buried in the dirt under our bean plants. she was wearing her favourite jacket and had pigtails in her hair. i sobbed and laughed. i swung her around and said her name outloud. i cried. i pressed her body against mine and put my face into her hair. that was when i smelled her. she was pungent and the scent was the unmistakeable scent of the decomposition of flesh, at once both tangy and sweet and foul. i held her out from me again, looking her all over. she was still laughing and smiling. i looked around the room to find leon staring at us in wonder. there was an unspoken agreement between us to not tell anyone that laurel had died, so how could we publicly express our shock and wonder at her rising from her sodden grave? she was wiggling in my arms, the smell still rising off of her. i was at once repelled and yet i could not let her go. i pressed her to me again, deciding that it didn't matter, even if she was undead, i was still too happy to have her back in my life. if the only thing i had to get used to was the scent of decay eminating off her body it was a small price to pay. i started to let her down, so she could go play with the other children that were visiting our house, and that was when i saw that one of her ears, behind her hair, was discoloured and wilted looking. i pushed the hair back to look more closely. it was unnaturally leathery and tanned looking, brown-leaning-towards-yellowy black. her arm swung around to push me away - she wanted to go play - and when her jacket sleeve slid up with the movement i saw more signs of decay along her forearm. medium-to-large yellowish spots surrounded by the dark purpley-black rings of blood pooling in her flesh. i put her down. my body filled with grief. i knew she was still dead, then. i knew it, and i did not know what to do about it. she trundled off into the backyard, still acting completely normal.

i cornered leon and we tried to talk about what to do. how could we tell anyone what was going on when we'd never even said anything about her dying in the first place? how could we explain our reasoning for burying her in the garden instead of contacting the authorities and letting all of the official stuff happen? how could we express our shock and fear and amazement that our daughter had risen from the dead? i told him about the signs of decay on her body, the smell. we knew it would only be a matter of time before she started to fall apart completely. then it would be obvious, then we would be in trouble. i started to cry again, filled with grief. leon suggested we take her somewhere remote and drown her, or burn her, or cut her into pieces and bury them far apart from one another. i sobbed and sobbed. her first death had not been our fault; how could i say yes to ending her existance purposefully. how could we think we'd get away with it? "no, no," i said, panicking. "no. we'll take her to the hospital. we'll show them the spots on her body, make them smell her. they'll know what to do. please. we can't do anything else."

we looked out over the edge of the balconey at her playing merrily with her friends. she seemed completely normal if a little slower than usual. liam was standing beside the tree, not playing or talking, just staring at his sister in wonder and fear. the little spots and discolourations on her skin were so visible to me. i felt like i would have to watch her disintegrate over time, this way. i felt that her leaving us again was an inevitibility. i was completely seized with grief and sorrow. i wanted to pull her to me, to fill her up with love, to try and cure whatever sickness had fallen on her. but i was afraid. i was afraid of the smell of death. i was afraid that if i hugged her too hard, her skin would come away from her flesh in pieces. i woke up with tears squeezing out of my eyes.

i was in labour - transition, in fact - and i thought, "what the hell? i'm not pregnant!" but there wasn't much room in my brain for wondering about this curious happenstance, because the baby was coming right now and i was completely alone with only my husband in the room with me. i moaned and screamed her out. her head appeared first and i put my hand on her little wet scalp and peered down at her scrunched-up face. then her body slithered out and i pulled her up onto my stomach to look more closely at her. she wasn't screaming or crying and i saw that the cord was wrapped, tight, around her neck. i nearly panicked and tried to slip my wet fingers between her neck and the thick, wet cord, but it was so tight there was no room to do so. in terror i pressed my teeth against the cord and bit. it was rubbery. the baby was turning blue. i bit and bit, and finally, it sprang back with a tiny gush of blood. i looked at the baby again, definitely a girl, and she was still not breathing or crying. i held her to my chest and patted her back hard, saying, "breathe, breathe, breathe." finally she gulped back a tiny bit of air. and again. and again. and then she wailed.

i looked up at my husband, adrenalyn pumping through my body.

"how did this happen!" i cried, accusatory. "how did this happen! you had a vasectomy! how could i get pregnant!"

he had no words. in fact, he did not want to look me in the face. it was then i knew the baby was not his. i clutched her to my body. we were cold, wet, messy. leon was not helping at all. i felt little contractions still, as my body tried to expell the placenta. "i don't understand. i didn't even know i was pregnant. how did i get this baby?"

he walked out of the room, still not speaking to me, letting me alone with the baby girl, who i named rebecca. she was quiet as i pressed her to my breast, she latched on perfectly. i tried to remember...and couldn't. i tried to feel anything at all about this turn of events, but couldn't. all i felt was acute dread at having to take care of another baby, another newborn; this time, completely alone.