DIARY OF AN UNWILLING WIDOW
Day 13
I dreamed of Paul early this morning. I’m thanking God for that. Last night my friend Mishelle brought supper
and she asked if I had dreamed about Paul yet.
I told her I had not, but most of my sleep is dreamless right now
because I’m still dependent on the Advil PMs to get any sleep at all. She said that she would pray I would dream of
him.
Last night I only took half a PM pill and it did take longer
to fall asleep, although I was tired. I
started working (writing) on my account of the night of Paul’s death. Emotionally, I was a bit of a wreck by the
time I made myself quit (it was getting late and I don’t want to get into the
habit of staying up too late and then sleeping in in the morning. The kids need me alert when they are). I found myself physically shaking as I
relived the events of that night. And
then I fell asleep and dreamed of Paul.
The dream was two-fold.
In the first part, Paul was here, but something was wrong with him. He was sitting at a table and couldn’t talk
to us. His eyes were vacant. In my dream I was telling myself that he was
going to have to “go to Glenwood.” Where
we used to live, in SW Iowa , there is a large facility
for the mentally disabled in Glenwood , IA.
In the second part of my dream, Paul had died. But then, he came back to me. He no longer had his beard for some
reason. I couldn’t stop touching him –
his face, his arms, his chest. I was
chattering away to him and I remember in the dream sputtering, “But you died! I saw them carry you out of the ambulance in
a body bag! They did an autopsy on you - we buried you!” Paul told me that he had felt them cutting
into him for the autopsy but was too out of it to say anything. He then told me – and this makes me laugh in
the light of reason and day right now – that he had simply popped open his casket
lid and clawed through the dirt in order to walk home to us. Then I
began telling Paul all about his funeral – how packed out it was and how many
people had come to say good-bye to him.
I told him about all the cards I’ve been receiving and the many gifts,
financial and otherwise, that have come our way as a result of his death. Then, in my dream I began to worry about just
how I was going to return all the things that had been given and would people
be mad that they had been cooking and cleaning for us when Paul wasn’t dead
after all?
At that moment I woke up from my dream. It was exactly 6am . Two emotions immediately flooded my sleepy
being – 1) relief that I would not have to explain to people that my
once-presumed dead husband really wasn’t and 2) a crushing sadness that Paul
really and truly is gone and won’t ever come to me, except when we meet again
in Heaven someday. Later, as I began my
day, I also felt a profound sense of thankfulness to the Lord for allowing that
dream. He had answered both Mishelle’s
and my prayer.
My Moms of Special Needs Kiddos group came out to my house
Monday night. It was our regular
meeting. They came for me. They brought food and gifts – and
chocolate! They know me! Amy, who leads our group and who I consider
to be a dear friend, had thought of a series of questions. For about 45 minutes, I was asked question
after question about Paul. It was so
freeing to talk about him and to “introduce” my friends to my husband (most
knew only me from the group). I honestly
loved it. I am already noticing that
some people don’t bring up Paul to me. I
know their motives are good, thinking they are sparing me pain. But they don’t realize that thoughts of my
husband consume my being. He is ALL I
think about and there are times I am just bursting to talk about him. I am already in so much pain that talking
about him cannot possibly hurt any more than I already do. And so I was grateful. We listened to Will's testimony at the funeral and watched the dvd of his pictures that was played at the viewing. And then, I was prayed for, out loud. I wept in gratitude and thanksgiving as they
prayed. What a precious gift they gave
me that night. I will never, ever forget
it.
I did some shopping today – normal, pre-widowhood type of
errands. It took longer than I thought
it would. But then, everything takes
longer these days. Lizzie wanted to
come, so I brought her. I would have had
Ben, but his former school aide and friend, Deb, came and picked him for me
today. Deb is precious. I called her last night, knowing that Ben
needs some diversion. He is going crazy
right now at home. I didn’t realize that
Deb is now babysitting her grandkids 4 days a week. I called her and she didn’t even hesitate and
said, “How about tomorrow?” It was the
one day this week that she would not have her grandkids, and she happily gave
it up to help us. I am humbled. Yesterday, one of Ben’s teachers came and sat
with me for 3 hours. I got to know her
in a way I would not have, otherwise. I
have a feeling that our family has suddenly become very dear to the staff at
Pleasantville, based on a number of things.
We got many, many cards from people I don’t know, who identified
themselves as affiliated with the school there.
I know Ben was a favorite there before, but I have a feeling that
things have changed even from that.
But anyway, I ran these errands and I was doing ok. Then, I stopped at the Christian Book store
and as I was checking out the clerk (told to cross-sell, no doubt) asked if I
would like to contribute to the “widows and orphans fund.” I looked up at her and said softly, “I’m
a widow.” She looked astonished and then
said, “Well, never you mind, then! Then
she commented, “You look too young to be a widow.” I replied, “I’m 42, as was my husband. I’ve been widowed for 13 days now.” The clerk’s face crumpled and she walked
around from behind the counter and gave me a big hug and told me how sorry she
was. Tears came then.
I’ve been seeking out comforting music on my mp3 player
since about 4 days after Paul’s death. It’s
funny – none of the secular songs I have downloaded have any appeal for me right
now. Of course, neither do any of the love songs, secular or Christian, with the
exception of our wedding songs. On the way
home today I listened to the song, What’s
Mine is Yours by Katherine Nelson. The
song is actually about miscarriage, infertility, and teenage pregnancy - nothing relevant to my life right now. But the chorus really spoke to me and I found myself
singing it to God as I drove:
What’s mine is yours,
It’s always been,
What slips through
my hand has Your fingerprints on it,
I’m letting go, remembering
Though Heaven’s doors
feel shut,
They’re wide open,
What’s mine is Yours…
In my reading this
morning, I found myself in Romans 8 again.
Of course, I love verse 28 and have reminded the boys and myself of the
promise of this verse several times since Paul’s Homegoing. Today, though, I read McArthur’s notes on verse
29 and learned something new – something comforting. I’ve always thought verse 29 was a simple
answer to the question of election and predestination. It is, but McArthur goes on to explain that
this verse speaks of a predetermined choice of God to set His love on us and to
establish an intimate relationship with us.
I had never thought about that before.
But, I can see it. Never in my
entire life have I felt so loved by God as I do right now. I can even, in kind of a weird way, see that
God’s allowing Paul to die is a way to move my focus to Him. It’s not that it was not there to begin with,
but I always had Paul the to provide for my deepest need of love, intimacy, and
security. That’s been ripped away and I
feel God sliding into His place and saying, “You were loved deeply by your
husband, but now I want you to feel my love.”
And I do.
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