Moments of Comfort in Grief

There were dreams, and then there were dreams that brought me comfort. Dreams where I'd see my former husband, Nelson, and know without a doubt that he was close by. I dreamt one night that I could see what he was doing in heaven, and that he was happy, healthy, and youthful. Other times, I'd cry to God for a sign. God never let me down. Nelson would come to me in a dream and wrap his arms around me. I'd know it was him by his embrace.

These moments of comfort kept my hope for eternal life alive. As the one year anniversary of Nelson's death approached, there seemed to be more moments of final comfort along with higher anxiety levels. These moments of comfort and anxiety were magnified in my life.

About 2 months before this monumental event of completing my first year of widowhood, my youngest daughter, Nicole, would be celebrating her seventh birthday. It would be the first birthday party I'd have to throw for one of my daughters by myself. Nelson always loved throwing the girls' birthday parties but now it was all up to me.  I didn't like it one bit. But it was time to suck it up and make it a memorable day for my seven year old.

We celebrated Nicole's birthday at the bowling alley, the day before her birthday. All of Nicole's friends showed up along with many of mine and Nelson's. The presence and support of my husband's friends emphasized Nelson's absence but also brought me peace to know how much we were loved. 

The comfort came the following morning. Nicole woke up on her birthday in a daze. "Mom!" Nicole's eyes opened wide. "I had a dream of Daddy! I was surfing at the beach. A huge wave came crashing over me and then Daddy came. He wrapped his arms around me and saved me! I felt him holding me, Mommy, he really hugged me. I could feel it!" Joy burst into my heart. Nicole felt a moment of comfort, too. And what better day but her birthday!

I believed that her father could have come to her and held her even if no one else believed it was real. The dream comforted us and helped us to go on. My children had their own grief journeys they were on and deserved to have their moments of comfort, too! Do you believe that dreams in grief are real, too?

When Prayers are Not Answered Our Way

I believe in prayer. I believe in miracles. But what if prayers don't get answered the way we want? Do we still believe?

I had a fairy tale life. I married my first husband, Nelson, in 1983. We waited a few years before having children so we could have our time. Our first daughter, Jessica, was born in 1987, and then, Nicole, in 1989. We were a happy family living our dreams!

So in 1990, when my husband was in a bad car accident that put him on disability for a year with back problems, life got a little shaky. There came a point when the doctor refused to give him any more pain meds and said he needed back surgery. He could barely get off the couch because of the pain. We were scared! And 22 years ago, surgery was riskier! So I began to pray!! I prayed in the shower, doing daily chores, while my daughters were napping, on my knees beside my bed, whenever I had the chance.

I became a prayer warrior. And as days, weeks, and months, went by, each day Nelson told me he felt a little better. He was eventually released to go back to work. Now that was a miracle from God!!

So fast forward to 1995. Nelson ends up in the hospital with pneumonia. More complications arise and he's put on a respirator. Well, the prayer warrior in me starts again. I believed, without a doubt, that God could heal him again. He did it once, so why wouldn't he do it this time? God had to heal him!

I continued to hold onto hope throughout the 3 weeks that Nelson was in the hospital. Up to the last day, I knew that if God wanted to, He could heal him. But He didn't. Nelson died after his lungs collapsed. My hope was gone, my dreams were shattered. God didn't answer my prayers the way I expected Him to. Why not?  Dazed and numb, I couldn't understand God's answer at the time.

As I began to learn through the years, as a widow, God gives, and God takes away. I've grown to realize that nothing is permanent in this life. I still believe in prayer and in miracles. But if my father in heaven takes it away, it's ok because he also gives me joy in this life, too.

My 12 months (not days) of grieving

These were my first twelve months of grief:

First month: Shock
They told me Nelson died. But I didn't feel sad, angry, or anything. I actually felt joyful that my husband was in heaven and no longer in pain. Why were others so sad?

Second month: Denial
Nelson's presence was still close. There were many coincidences that proved my husband had not left. I denied my grief and was comforted by dreams that he was still with me.

Third month: Instant Gratification (Out of control!)
Drinking, eating, gambling, shopping, and traveling. Within a couple weeks, I was into a pattern of habits that I couldn't stop.
(excerpt from my book)

"If I stay as close to the Lord, like I am now," I confidently told my friend, Lynette, "then I'll never feel any grief from my husband's death." I stirred my Margarita then swigged down the last gulp.

"It doesn't work that way." Lynette adjusted her kitchen blinds to block out the early evening sun. "You're still in shock. But once you get back home, the pain will come."

"We'll see." I didn't want to argue. "I think I'll have one more drink before we go out to eat."

Forth month: Guilt (Coming out of the fog)

Why didn't I call the doctor sooner. Doesn't matter. My husband is not coming back. I'm the only parent. What was I modeling? How could I be so selfish and neglect my children?

Fifth month: PAIN (My broken heart!)

Unbearable and excruciating pain. A knife stabbing my heart. Relentless nights of weeping to God. As the pain released, I felt God's comfort. Only God's love could mend my broken heart. 

Sixth month: Depression (Letting go)

It was October, a change of season, and the holidays were approaching. I started cleaning out my husband's closets. I gave his favorite leather jacket to his best friend. I cried.

Seventh month: Disorientation (Past or present?)

Sometimes I wanted to go back. I wanted to cry and live in past memories. A familiar place. But my children lived in the present and my friends encouraged me to keep going forward.  

Eigth month: Revelation (Acceptance)

My first holiday season consisted of visiting numerous family and friends from all time periods of my life. This revealed that Nelson was not my entire past, only part of it.

Ninth month: Comforting moments

The pain came and went. Moments of joy between moments of pain. We made new memories over the holidays by allowing our family and friends to share our pain and fill us with love.

Tenth month: What do I do now? (My future?)

Should I move closer to my sister and parents? But professionals say, don't make any big changes for at least a year. I better wait a few more months. I just don't have a clue as to what to do.

Eleventh month: Finding fun and socializing

It was time to go out and dance again. It was time to meet new people. I needed to feel alive again.

Twelth month: Time to reminisce

I spent the anniversary of my husband's death with friends. We all went out and celebrated Nelson's life. We all shared our best stories of the best memories we had of this wonderful man!

Life goes on...Make the best of it

"If I kill myself, then I can be with Daddy forever," Jessica said.
I felt exactly the same...wanting to die.
"I understand how much you miss Daddy, but you can't kill yourself." I sadly looked my 7 year old's wishful face next to me.
She quietly stared ahead again as if in deep thought. "Well... what if someone else kills me? That would be a good idea."
Her attempt to scheme such an outlandish plot startled me.
"No," Nicole piped up from the back seat. "You can't do that either, because if you want to die and you make that happen, it's still a very bad sin."
My heart ached for Jessica, understanding her yearning to leave this world and go on to the next.

At 34 years old, in my first year of widowhood, it was hard to imagine, that I'd ever feel truly happy again. Life went on. One day at a time. It never stopped. Then one day I woke up and I didn't want to die anymore. I wanted to live. Life was never going to go back to the way it was. It was time to go forward. It was time to make something good out of something tragic. It was time to realize that it wasn't about me. Life became more about my children and about helping others.

As the years unfolded, we found our happy days again. I started college at the age of 37 to become a social worker. It took me another 13 years to complete my master's degree, but I did it. (See pictures) I also found another wonderful man to remarry 2 years ago. My children are happy and pursuing their own dreams. I'm pretty sure they don't want to die any time soon! I'm just as happy now than I ever was. And when I think of my first husband...I smile. He made me very happy during the 17 years that I knew him. I feel blessed that we had that time together.