Last night I had a dream about my daughter Kate. It’s been almost seven years now since she went Home to be with the Lord. In the dream she was in a coma, not like it was in real life, with her connected to tubes and a ventilator and no hair; swollen from the medications. In this dream, she was unconscious but breathing on her own. Her hair down to her shoulders. She looked a lot like when she was in high school, but yet older than high school age. Maybe twentyish. In this dream, she was laying there in the bed and I was leaning over her. I had been there for quite awhile and in my mind I was thinking that she had been in a coma for three weeks and I was so afraid that she wasn’t going to wake up.
As I was leaning over her I just kept thinking, “Please wake up.” ‘Just wake up.’ Then I saw her leg move a little and I remember thinking that that would not be happening if she were brain dead. (That I’m sure was a carry over from my reality.) Then slowly she began to move, as if she were slowly waking up. And then she opened her eyes. I was just so happy. I was just so happy. She was awake. She was alive. She was going to be ok. She sat up and she talked to me and I was just there with her. Just soaking in being with her. The dream continued for awhile after that. We talked, although I have no idea what we were talking about. I just remember soaking in the warmth of the joy and happiness that she was alive.
At first when I woke up I didn’t remember dreaming. I just went straight into awake mode. Did all of my morning stuff, then I sat down to do my devotions. The first devotion I opened was written by a mom of triplets and she was writing about being with them in the hospital fighting for their lives. She wrote, “I felt as if I was living in some weird alternate universe, a time warp where the outside world was a distant memory.” Suddenly, it was like I was back in the dream all over again and feelings of warmth being with Kate rushed over me, along with the awful grief of her being gone for real in this life. I didn’t bother trying to stop the flood of tears rushing down my face. I knew I needed to take a moment here and just allow myself to walk through this pain. To let it just flow through me. To allow it to break my heart all over again. To wade through those pieces of my heart. To lean into the pain that lives hand in hand with my love for her. Here in this moment of quiet before the whole world wakes up.
One thing I have learned about grief. One thing that I know to be true; denying it and hiding from it, only makes it bigger. Makes it roar louder. Grief will make itself known and shows through me whether I acknowledge it or not. It is only when I acknowledge it, give it the space to break me again and release all of that bottled up pain to God, that it calms. Then the grief’s roar is a little quieter. The elephant in the room is a little smaller. That I find a little more peace that passes all understanding. My heart may be laying shattered on the ground but God’s heart stands in the gap for me. He is the one that keeps my blood flowing, that keeps me going when I can’t find the strength to carry on. He is the One that carefully picks up the pieces of my broken heart, holds them in His hand and tells me that it’s going to be ok because He will carry them for me.
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