by Lynne on Thu Apr 03, 2008 6:11 pm
"My theory is that after a loved one dies, they WILL visit you in a dream."
Sometimes even when you are not quite dreaming. My story is long so I apologize. I've shortened it as much as I can.
In 1996 I met my 'soul mate' online. Jay and I wed in 1997 and I used to tell him that I got a glimpse of God through our relationship. I had no idea it was possible for two people to be so close.
In October of 2001 he was diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer. As a side note, I was diagnosed with stage 1 uterine cancer three months later. When I told Jay he said, "I know we are soul mates but we don't have to share everything!" Surgery took care of me. Jay was not so fortunate.
After 9 chemo treatments, countless radiations and several surgeries it was time for him to go. In August 2003 he had a peg (feeding tube) and a trach which silenced his voice. On the evening of August 28, 2003 one of tumors in his neck ruptured the carotid artery. I stood by his bedside helplessly watching him drown in his own blood, watching it pour out of the trach, as I prayed over and over, "God, please just take him". It took ten minutes but seemed an eternity. At the end he turned his head slowly in my direction. His eyes were not working in tandem, the right one dragging behind like a club foot, but I could see he was looking past my right shoulder. There was nothing but a wall of shelves behind me. I knew he was looking at someone when he smiled, and I felt he was being greeted by someone to help him over. Then he truly left.
The manner of his death haunted me. For 10 minutes his body moved. How could a god of love allow such suffering? I could not move past this. I grew depressed and angry over the next few months.
One Saturday I returned to the house after running some errands. My energy level had been normal until I walked into that empty house. I felt completely drained within seconds. I sat in a recliner to practice my napping skills and almost immediately fell into a twilight state. My eyelids were so heavy I could not lift them. Then there was a presence beside the chair. Someone was there and I could not open my eyes. Far from being afraid, I felt it was Jay. Then my eyelids lifted just a bit. I could see my left arm resting on the chair.
That is [i]not[/i] what I felt, however.
What I felt was my arm raised at a 45 degree angle. If I had been asked to choose at that moment which body was real, I would have chosen the one I felt rather than the one I saw. Jay was helping me to understand that although he was still "in" his body, he was disconnected from it. The suffering I witnessed was not what he felt at all. His presence enabled me to let go of the past and focus on now.
"Till death do us part" was the only lie in my marriage vow. He is still with me.
To make a long message even longer, I was not the only one having trouble getting past his death. Our friend Greg was there for Jay's death also and confessed that he had asked Jay to let him know all was okay. "Just give me a sign that you are allright," Greg prayed as he drove a winding road. As he crested a hill, there before him was a complete rainbow. Greg told me he had never seen such a complete and splendid rainbow before. As he continued his drive, everywhere he looked he saw fragments of rainbows until he laughed and said out loud, "Okay, okay, I get it! You're allright!" The rainbows disappeared.
As Greg was relating his experience to me I just had to laugh. "Did you know Jay worked in community theater in Houston in the 1980s," I asked him. "He won an award for his work." I pointed to a statuette on the mantel.
"What did he win that for," Greg asked me.
He won it for Best Lighting.
"Surely this must be an ancient proverb: if the situation is killing you, get the hell out."—Hugh Prather