Dreams

I woke up startled then instantly reality hit. In hard despair I desperately prayed to God, “Please never let me have that dream again!” Then I cried. 

How often do you remember your dreams with vivid clarity after you wake up? How often do you remember them well over a year later with the same clarity?

This dream was beautiful. I was sitting by the fire in our den. My wife sat facing me on my left side. She was smiling as usual. The warmth of her face was so much more than the dimly burning fire on my other side. She was radiant, as beautiful as she had ever been since I had known her. She was saying something, but I could not hear her. It did not really matter because her smile said it all. Still, I was confused. I tried to put my question into words, but it was hard to form them. I asked, “How?” Then I asked, “Why?” Then I quickly returned to, “How?” Time stalled. She raised her hand, extended her index finger, and touched my lips. Her lips formed as if to shush me to be quiet. I said nothing else. Then she came close and gently brushed her check against mine. Peace settled as it always did when we were close to each other.

Then suddenly, I awoke. I looked around. Everything was the same, except Pam was not there. In the flash of a split second my memories returned, and I remembered that I watched her die a week earlier. 

“Please never let me have that dream again!” I prayed. It was too painful. It was like losing her all over again. Why did I need to relive those awful moments again?

Healing happens. Time passes. Things change. What seemed to be so painful now seems so sweet. I hate trite sayings, regurgitated lines, and conjecture that try to comfort those who grieve the loss of those they love. I always felt those sayings were hollow, now even more, yet I have found grace for them. Like the old saying about a gift, it’s not the words we say, but the thought and love behind the words that means something to the grieving one. 

So, I questioned the old words which say that time heals all wounds. Yes, I had experience with the usual pains of life, with divorce, with the loss of my mom and dad in death, and they all healed over time. But this was different. I lost most of myself.

Pam and I were one in many ways. I would contend that she was not only the biggest part of us, but she was also the best part of us too. I originally described the loss as a big cookie cutter that was pressed into my chest removing a big piece in the center. Looking back, it was a bigger cookie cutter which took a huge section out of the center extending to one side leaving me looking like an apple with a huge bite taken by the jolly green giant. Only the core of me was left. One usually throws away the core after an apple is consumed – I felt consumed and worthy of being discarded.

Even with the depth of loss and feelings of uselessness, healing started little by little. Some days it seemed like progress had stalled – maybe even going backwards, but it was proceeding forward every day even if it was by very little. Time was healing the wounds. That particular trite saying was true. 

How long? The progress cannot be measured in time. It is the distance and the reaction to triggers that will tell the story of healing and measure the progress.

Early this morning, I had a dream.

Pam was at the center of it again. I saw her and felt her as before. It was a much longer time. I did not try to ask any questions. I just absorbed her beauty and her love. I noticed she was not trying to comfort me, but she was intent, almost impatient to spend time with me. She was as normal as I have ever known her. Then she was gone, and I was awake. 

Before, I was disturbed; now, l was at ease. Before, I was distraught; now, I was comfortable. Before, I prayed, “Never Again.’ Now, I prayed, “Thank you Lord for the gift.” I smiled and got out of bed.

Peace and the feeling of being a whole person is back. I am not the same person, but I am a person again. I hope I remember the second dream as long as I remember the first one. Time, with love, heals us if we let it happen.