Things have been ok. I was talking with someone who was grieving and they said that nothing had changed so they didn’t know why they felt worse. I reassured them that things, in fact, have changed. Time has gone on, sleep patterns vary, diet is incredibly important etc. I wasn’t taught that, I live that. Lately, I’ve been in a bit of a funk. I haven’t had a moment of utter despair. I haven’t broken down and yelled, “WHY?!?!” I haven’t seen any of Trey’s things and doubled over and wept. No, just a funk.
It’s been a battle, for the most part, of “get to” versus “have to.” Fortunately, each time I battle this, “get to” wins. Alongside that (or even beyond) I’ve just been plugging along. Some times I still feel like before he passed but without the hope of “when it’s all said and done.” I knew the fight would continue and thus, we keep fighting. In a way, I appreciate the worst of the days (which again, are really not THAT bad…yet) as they push me up against the cage where I can dig in and remember that I am in a fight and keep swinging.
All of that leads me to share with you something that happened yesterday. I had the opportunity to meet an extremely Godly woman who has been so important to many many people that I know. I was meeting her because she is about to die.
I walked into her room, told her that it was an honor and treasure to meet her, held her hand and smiled at her. Fully in her right mind and 100% aware she said to me, “I’m ready.” What she said next blew me away. She smiled and said, “At night I go on my walks down the valley of the shadow of death. As I go along my steps get lighter, almost like I’m skipping. Eventually, my feet aren’t on the ground anymore. Then I see the warmth, the light. I can see the curtains and the rings (not real sure what she meant by that but who am I to say?). I don’t hurt when I’m there and I can feel the warmth. I’m ready.”
Well, surreal is as close of a word as I can think of to describe that conversation. With tears in my eyes I quickly debated in my head and was 100% sure that she was aware of Trey and said, “Thank you so much for praying for my boy.” She smiled even brighter and replied, “He’s in a wonderful place now, a far far better place.” I teared a bit more.
Later, as we left, I asked the man I went with, who works in a nursing home as a chaplain, “You’ve had hundreds of conversations in situations like that. Have you ever heard anything like that?” He assured me that he had not.
Did she tell me anything about Trey that I didn’t know? No. In regards to her walks at night I sure didn’t know anything about that (let alone the rising up and the curtains etc.). However, to think of her experiences at night gave me great comfort as to what Trey must have experienced. To think of how she will be there ever so shortly and be there with Trey reassured me that however heaven works he IS far better than he ever was here.
Was any of that a game changer? No. Is how I felt about that meeting really important at all? You could very well argue “no” as well. I mean, these are the last days of this wonderful woman’s life. Yet, in the midst of all of this, God whispered to me. He gently touched me and reminded me how everpresent He really is. He cared enough to send me to this woman, at this time, to hear that story. Funk or not, He is the big deal, He is on my side, He cares for me and mine, we are ok, and we will not be left alone, even if He has to send me to a woman on her death bed to tell me so.