One More Day: A Magical Story in Four Parts

I have recorded dreams about my son David since he died eight years ago at age 24.

Lately, I’ve been concerned that my dreams have dwindled quite a bit. However two weeks ago I was blessed with a vivid dream. I walked into the living room, and David was sitting on my couch, wearing his black Revolution tee shirt. “Hi, Mom,” he said. I was so happy to see him. Surprisingly, I had the same dream two more times in the next few days. I was happy, thinking this was a “visitation” dream, what some termed as a type of dream where our loved ones who have passed on  visit us in our sleep and talk to us, as opposed to a regular dream.

A few mornings later, after having showered and dressed, I walked into the living room. There on the couch was David in his Revolution tee shirt and blue jeans. I gasped loudly  and fell to the floor, my heart pounding in my chest. Was I dreaming? David, said “Mom, don’t be scared. It’s me, you aren’t dreaming. I was given permission to visit you for a day.”

I was crying and couldn’t get off the floor. David walked over, knelt down and helped me to my feet. He was “real”. His physical presence was solid. We hugged a long time while I wept on David’s shoulder. He cried too, although he tried to hide it from me.

After what seemed like an hour, when my heart beat returned to almost normal, we sat down on the couch. “I can’t believe this. “ I said. “I’ve been hoping and praying for this for eight years, but knew if I did see you I’d be scared and might have a heart attack.”

“I know it’s shocking,” he said. “I tried to give you a ‘heads up’ about this visit in your dreams. I couldn’t email or call you in advance,” he laughed.

“I got the dreams,” I said. “How long can you stay?”

“About twelve hours. No one else can see me on this visit, so I’ll have to be gone before Howard gets home.”

To be continued…….  http://www.therevolution.cc

Via Dolorosa

Via Dolorosa means sorrowful road. It usually refers to the last walk that Christ took to the place he died.  I thought of these words, Via Dolorosa,  recently  when I saw a movie called The Way. It’s about a father whose son died unexpectedly while traveling in  Europe. The father, a succesful ophthalmologist, and his son had not seen eye-to- eye in recent years.  The father wanted his son to settle into a career. The son wanted to see the world and experience  different cultures, even if it meant not acquiring a  nice house, cars, and other material possessions. Recently the son had invited his dad to come to Europe with him, but his dad turned down the invitation.

The father receives a phone call notifying him that his son has died. I can relate to this because that is how I found out about my 24-year-old son’s sudden death. The father goes to France to bring home his son’s body. He learns that his son had died on a pilgrimage to Spain, a popular spiritual journey on a particular route that many people had taken. The father decides to complete this two month walk in his son’s place. He sprinkles his son’s ashes along the way. The pilgrimage  becomes a healing journey, and he comes to terms with his son’s death and makes amends.

I can relate to this journey  along the road where a son has died. My son died in a triathlon, having biked eight miles up a mountain road and then collapsed. I have taken this path many times since his death.  I place flowers at the memorial which marks the spot where he died. I think of this sorrowful  road, and mourn the loss of my son.

To Do Lists

Many people write a daily to do list. A single, working mother’s list might read:

• go to bank at noon
• get gas at noon
• pick up kids after work
• get groceries
• play with kids
• cook dinner
• do dishes
• help kids with homework
• bathe kids
• kids to bed
• collapse! read, watch TV
• go to bed

A retired woman’s list might read:

• clean house
• bake Quiche for evening book club
• book club at my house, 6:30 p.m.
• study for tomorrow’s Spanish class

A parent whose child has recently died has a list that reads:  (found in a Compassionate Friends’ newsletter):

• get up
• survive
• go to bed

I know. I’ve been there.