Denial: I Wasn't Expecting You.
What do dreams tell us? I've always believed that dreams are a window into our subconscious --- revealing things that we don't want to think about or that we have yet to resolve. Our challenge is to figure out what the seemingly mismatched puzzle pieces mean.
I have been in Florida for about three weeks now -- obviously I've lost track of time. This has not been the pleasure trip I had planned months ago as my sweet Aunt Patti has been diagnosed with brain cancer and I came to Florida early to spend some quality time with her and help her. I am going to leave that story for another time, as a more compelling thought is now dominating my consciousness.
So, without going into details about my time in Venice, FL with my aunt, I am now in Casey Cay, Fl -- one barrier island north of my aunt's home in Venice. My cousin Robin and her husband, Paul, rented a darling Sears Kit house on an incredible piece of property that runs from Little Sarasota Bay in the backyard to the Gulf of Mexico in the front yard. Unlike Venice, it is quiet, there are no neighbors or friends bustling around, and the Florida wildlife is abundant. In the backyard (Little Sarasota Bay and the Intercoastal Waterway) are two docks where I can sit in the shade of the mangroves and watch herons, egrets, and other birds and fish unknown to me, quietly go about their daily chores. The front yard is an uninterrupted view of the turquoise waters of the Gulf and the horizon, with dolphins breaking water a few feet off the beach. I've come here, to Casey Cay, to recharge and restore after three very hectic weeks helping my Aunt and hosting up to 20 relatives at a time. Thanks to cousin Robin, I am experiencing the beach that Anne Morrow Lindberg talks about in A Gift From The Sea --- right down to the simple little house. I feel so, so blessed!
I have been here for two nights. And it is the dream that I had last night that has prompted me to open up the ole' laptop (there is no WiFi here) and write down this dream in hopes of understanding it and of giving it the attention I believe it deserves. I welcome all feedback as it is yet another piece of the grief journey that has surprised me.
Last night I had a long, long dream that my sweet husband was alive. I think it may have started where he was alive and healthy, but I can't be sure of that. What I do remember -- the part of the dream that even coming half awake would not stop -- was that he was sick and I was trying to get him to the hospital. In the dream we were driving somewhere --- the place is hard to pin down as during the dream we were in many towns and cities. I find it is impossible to write the story of a dream as when you start to write it you realize how disjointed and illogical it is/was. So, rather than try to recapture the one trillion nuances of the dream, I will boil it down to a few sentences.
The gist of the dream was that I thought Len was alive and we were sharing a normal day. Then he got ill and while the doctors were trying to figure out what was wrong with him I realized that he had died a year earlier. I didn't say anything to the doctors as I thought they would think I was crazy. But eventually, I had to tell them --- we were all amazed. What I remember most about Len during this dream is an incredible restlessness --- his pacing and confusion, a childlike attitude. When I told the doctors that he had died a year ago they were as amazed as I was -- they didn't laugh, they didn't say "hey lady, you are dreaming" … they were just as amazed and curious. All of my costars in the dream were helping me deny the fact that Len was dead and that this was a dream.
Or, was it more than a dream? Was it yet another step in the process of grief?
Denial. One of the many steps of grief. Steps that take NO LOGICAL sequence. And, I guess I'm learning, that you will experience each of these steps or phases and that there is no expiration date --- you will experience them. During this last year I have never felt a sense of denial in Len's passing --- it was real, I accepted it, I celebrated it, but I never denied it.
Well, this morning, in the beautiful peace of this sweet, little Sears Kit house on Casey Cay, I think I finally experienced denial. I cried. I pleaded. I moaned. I groaned. I begged God to bring Len back to me. I cried and clung to Len begging him not to leave me. I felt a profound grief that I haven't felt in many, many ;months. The ONLY sense I can make of this dream here in the early daylight of the beach is that I have now firmly stood of the step of denial and I will honor it today knowing that my God is healing me and moving me along. I hold on to the Truth that God uses change to change us. He doesn't do it to destroy us but to coax us to the next level of character, experience, compassion, and destiny.
"I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until is is finally finished…" Phillippians 1:6
Working Through Denial ….
I have returned to Venice from Casey Cay and the sadness and sorrow of my dance with denial continues.
I am so conflicted.
On April 28 I am supposed to scatter the ashes of my sweet husband, Len. It has been almost 14 months since his passing and although it "seemed" like it was "time" to do it …. now that the date is approaching, I am not at all sure I am ready to "do it". I am conflicted. I am feeling conflicted because ….
1. I should be ready to do this
2. Len is probably restless in that box
3. The kids are ready to do this
4. I said I would do it
5. And my favorite -- will I ever be ready?
I am so sad.
Here at the beginning of Year 2 of Len's passing, I am feeling so very sad. I had expected that I would be moving from sadness and beginning to really make my new life. Instead, I am finding that Year Two is similar to Year One, but with another focus. Year One was all about Len --- his passing, his being "gone", his being in Heaven and no longer suffering. It is like all of my attention and emotions were focused on his passing and all of the "stuff" you have to do --- from remembering how to get up in the morning and give a darn to the joys of probate, insurance, and all the other "business" issues. Year Two is feeling more personal. I am so much more aware of other couples. I am reminded constantly of how much I miss having Len in my life. I am jealous of the couples who are still sharing life and enjoying their dreams. I am acutely aware that while I am alive on this earth I will never see Len again. I am just starting to feel the depths of my sorrow at losing my partner, my love.
Who'da thunk that I would start feeling these emotions right now? NOW -- when I'm supposed to be ready to let go and move on. The planned sowng and burial of Len's ashes has come at the wrong time …. OR … it it exactly the right time? Thus my state of confliction!
Is there EVER the RIGHT time to do this??????? Are we ever READY to let our loved one(s) go? I know in my heart, soul and even my gut that the answer to that question is YES! Yes, we do come to that point in time when we are ready to let go. But, I believe the time COMES to us --- it is not something controlled by the calendar.
When do we push and when do we sit still?
My "nature" has always been to push on -- to be strong and to carry on. I've come to learn that much of my "natural" ways of handling things are wrong. That is is better to be still than to push. To listen instead of talk. To reflect rather than to act. Perhaps it is my inner spirit that is talking so loudly to me again --- telling me to allow myself to be still -- to not push. Why else would I feel so totally overwhelmed right now? So raw. So sad. So lost.
Is this another place where I'm rushing too much? Expecting too much of myself? Not allowing myself to feel the sorrow, to accept it, to embrace it and in doing so, be preparing to let go? Hmmmm…….that thought just struck a chord. Perhaps you are never ready (or able) to let go until you've gone through each step of grief. I am praying that once I've danced each step of this life-altering dance I will be truly able to accept the loss and let go and receive the gifts God is giving me let go, to heal, to mend, to move on.
Be still and listen. Be still and feel the feelings. Be still and trust the process. Be still and know that our loving God is leading us through this challenge and He hears our cry, He hears our prayers, and He will always keep us safe.
"In times of trouble, may the Lord answer your cry. May the name of the God of Jacob keep you safe from all harm." Psalm 20:1
