Tell Me Anything But No

NOTE TO READERS: I’m out on a limb writing this one. It’s even more personal than most I’ve written. I apologize in advance to my children who may be reading. Sometimes it’s TMI to read about the lives of parents. But so be it. I hope something here is uplifting and, maybe makes you laugh.

Sometime Tuesday morning I had a dream. As with many dreams, it was a mix of realism and fantasy. This was very different from the insomnia I experienced last Saturday night, which I categorize as one of the five worst nights since Pam died. That wasn’t even a nightmare. I was awake. And the floodgates of remembrance and deep sorrow forbade me slumber for most of the night.

In my dream we were sitting together working on Pam’s laptop computer. We were clearly in our younger years. She was having trouble with whatever she was doing. I could tell that the battery was low so I went upstairs to plug it in. I found her in a bed (didn’t look like ours) with covers on, but she still looked cold so I added another. Pam was always cold. I just had to slip under the covers beside her – to help keep her warm ;-). She was wearing just an oversized T-shirt as was her way. As I cozied up next to her, Pam said, “Tell me anything but no.“

She got up to go to the bathroom, but didn’t return quickly so I got up too. We passed each other along the way. I went to the bathroom and had to navigate through a clutter of children’s nursery toys and various pieces of geriatric equipment (the bathroom wasn’t familiar either). Very frustrating. I have no idea what that was about. All I wanted was to get back to Pam.

Then I woke.

Do I want to be close to Pam? Yes!
Do I want to kiss her? Yes!
Do I want to hold her tight to help her feel safe, secure, and loved? Yes!
Do I want to lay close to her? Yes!

Did I want Pam to go? – NO!

But that’s the selfish me talking. I could say YES. It was time for her suffering to end. YES. It was/is time for me to let go. YES. You were wonderful and we all miss you terribly.

YES. I will love you until I die!

Contrary to how I felt after insomnia Saturday, I stood taller last Tuesday morning. Somehow refreshed. Somehow lightened by the memory of Pam before her illness, when our love wasn’t tainted by age or disease.

As I looked at her picture that morning, I cried – as usual. But then I laughed. I laughed at the consistency with which I look at her picture and cry. I laughed because, though I caught a glimpse of her dying – as usual, it was fleeting and was replaced by the image of “Yes.”

Oh how I wish grieving was linear. I’d know that I was nearing the end of a dark forest, a break in the clouds leading to sunshine. But as with the weather, and as one who travels across ever changing landscapes, I know there will be clouds and wind, pathless dark forests, mountains and valleys, as I continue to grieve.

YES!
Pam and I were – YES – not no.

Healing From Loss marked Tuesday morning with a simple message: Laughter is as much a healer as crying. I laughed at that too.