The Dreaded November 16th...

“What do you need for tomorrow? Would you like to go away alone for the day? Maybe head to the beach?” Jon asked.  November 16th is a day we prepare for.  On this day 4 years ago, my amazing, beautiful mom took her last breath here on earth.  And when this day hits, so does a wave of grief.
“I honestly don’t know what I need.  Maybe I’ll be ok just staying home and being with the family.”  I said timidly.

We pulled into the driveway and ate a quick lunch around the table. After lunch, Jon and the kids piled on the couch to watch Ant Man, and I snuck upstairs and crawled into bed for a glorious Sunday afternoon nap.  

Within minutes I was fast asleep. I’m not typically a dreamer, but in an instant, I found myself transported to a random home unfamiliar to me.  I was walking around, on the phone with my dad, and there was this understanding that my mom was going to be gone soon.  She wasn’t sick though. It was just this understanding that she either was gone or was going to be leaving us soon.  All of a sudden, my mom got on the phone, “Hi sweetie! ”  Her voice was so alive.  I felt partly shocked to hear her voice, and also partly just at home.  Like I had talked to her just yesterday.  She talked with all the passion and excitement of the type-A, life-of-the-party, Mom of my youth.  I knew this voice so well.  I hung on her every word.  Every inflection of her voice. Tears streamed down my face. She was so confident and full of life. I hit the “mute” button on my phone so she wouldn’t hear me cry.  I would pull myself together and hit “unmute” on my phone to say the occasional, “Uh huh,” or “Wow mom, that’s great.”  Then I would mute my phone again and sob, while I listened to her voice. 

All of a sudden, as I was listening to her talk, I heard my dogs bark and I heard Ant Man playing downstairs. My brain tried to process what was going on.  I was so confused. And then her voice was gone. And I wasn’t in the unfamiliar house. I could feel my mattress under me. I was sobbing... in my sleep.  With my eyes still closed, I screamed inside my head, “What!??!?  This was a DREAM!?!?  NOOOO!!! Take me back to the phone call!!  I want to hear her voice!!”  The tears streamed down my cheeks onto my pillow, but I refused to open my eyes.  I thought if I opened my eyes, the dream would for sure be over.  But maybe, just maybe, if I laid still and kept my eyes closed, I could fall back asleep and go back to that sacred place.  How does one dive back into the same dream?  I laid in bed, sobbing.  Begging.  “God please!!  Take me back there. Let me hear her voice again!”  I kept my eyes closed, pleading and crying.  But she was gone. The phone call was over.  The imaginary scene was exactly that. Imaginary.  It took me an eternity to finally and reluctantly open my eyes. I looked around my bedroom. I became present in reality.  The reality of life without my mom. A reality I despise.  I sobbed more.

My 14 year old daughter walked into my room.  I tried to explain my puffy, blotchy, tear stained face.  She looked at me with kind eyes.  She didn’t leave my side.  We chatted about life and make-up and what to eat for dinner.  A few minutes later, another child wandered into my room.  Then another.  We scooted over to make room.  Before I knew it, all 4 of my kids were laying in bed with me.  God, you are so kind.  The youngest asked if we could play a game.  So we laid in my bed and began to play.  And we laughed and giggled and got competitive.  I texted my husband a picture of the scene and he ran up the stairs to join in the fun.

I looked at each face in our bed and marveled at the ability to feel joy and sorrow in one sitting.  I marveled at the tears that were coming now, from laughing so hard.  I marveled at how painful one part of life can be, while another part of life is pure beauty.  It’s messy and it’s complicated and it is the profound experience of being human.  

It’s 11:43pm now. Just 17 minutes until November 16th.  Everyone is asleep, and I’m laying in the same spot. Tears falling in the same way.  I did not sit down to write this story and put a bow on it. There is no bow.  I felt tormented today.  The gift of hearing her voice and then it being ripped away in an instant, brought back the trauma of losing her all over again.  Most would view my dream as a sweet gift.  Maybe I’ll think of it as a gift another day. Today it was torture.   

All I can say to you is hug more and hug longer. Make the phone call.  Plan the visit.  Listen to the inflection of their voice.  SOAK YOUR LOVED ONES UP.  

And then look around you and be present. Show up.  Lean in.  Invest in your people.  

Because tomorrow is not promised.

So be faithful with today.  

Remember when I said I may feel differently another day? It’s only been a few minutes since I wrote that. And just to be clear, God, if I have to choose to never have a dream like that again, or go through the pain of today again?

I choose the torture of her voice every time.

#aglimpseinadreamisbetterthannoglimpseatall

What I wouldn’t give to hear your voice one more time...