The Dream Which Prepared Me

A couple of months before my Dad passed away I had a dream, a vision even you might say of something incredibly special.  It prepared me for the time of my father's passing when I could look back on those images I had and know God was with me.  He was taking care of my parents and I should have no doubts about that.

The images were in black in white.

The setting was heaven.

It was the day my Dad arrived in heaven.

Leading up to these images, my dad had been suffering a lot over the past 3 years.  Alzheimer's disease had stolen so much of the father I knew. It was brutal and cruel.  It stole his language skills.  It stole his memories.  It caused him to be feeble, unsteady on his feet and feel like he was in a deep dark place at times which I could never imagine.  We were his lights in the darkness in his time of need.  We were his champions.  His cheerleaders.  His steady anchors in a very scary unsettling time.  Our mom lit up his life every single time he was in her presence.  Their love for each other was quite something to behold.  It was like this precious gem or treasure to us.  Their love was so deep and selfless.  Staff at the Carriage Club talked about how special a couple they were all the time.

"I'm going to see my bride!" he'd tell the staff when he had to sign out of assisted living to walk over to see Mom in another building.
Replies were often, "Oh, I know you are going to see your sweetie pie!  She's waiting for you now!  Be good!"
He loved the banter back and forth with the staff.  They loved my parents.

Mom would giggle and smile when she saw him.  If she were asleep when Dad arrived, he'd let her sleep.  He knew she needed rest.  When she woke up he was there smiling at her.  Just like when living independently on their own in their own home, Dad was the one to wake her up from her naps.

Every visit was sacred time.

Mom his bride Christmas Day 2010

Every visit for me became sacred time as well.  This was true for both my parents.  I loved spending time with both of them no matter how sad either of their conditions became. They brought me joy so often and I longed to hear their laughs, see their smiles and hear their "I love you" one more time.  In my Dad's case, it helped me to see that he was still "Dad" underneath his illness.

Spending part of our weekends at the Carriage Club after Mom passed was something I always looked forward to with my brother.  We loved it when he had good days and joked with us.

A good day in February 2013 when he started to bounce back a bit.

We helped to bring his memories back to life.  We cherished him.  We loved him, hugged him, laughed with him, cried with him and made him feel like he was still our hero.

He was.

Easter 2012

He would always be that to my brother and I.  Our hero of a dad who poured out his love and life into us, his kids, Mom his bride, his friends and to the church and community he loved so dearly.  He was so special.  He was funny.  He was compassionate and strong, my anchor and security so often.  He was an ever present calming presence in my life too until the very end.

Alzheimer's truly broke my heart those first 2 months in 2013.  It had already done a pretty good job of doing so the past 3 years.  Watching the decline of your dad and the process of what he went through…..the fear, anxiety, confusion, paranoia and loss of complete control of his life was like a spear in my heart.  There is nothing we could do to stop it. Alzheimer's was not about to slow down at this point.  So we did everything we could do to soften it, to love, to bring joy, to validate, to affirm and we became very good at living in the moment and appreciating every single tiny blessing along the way.

My dad had fallen and bumped his head at the end of December.  He required a trip to the ER to get his head checked out which turned into another trip to the ER the next day and then followed with a case bronchitis.  I was worried about him. My brother was worried about him.  This was a tough blow and I had never seen my father unable to feed himself before or look at me and not respond when I was talking to him directly.  He would stare off into space like I was not there when he was so sick with the bronchitis.  He basically could not stand on his own.  He did not have a lot of strength at all and ever single bit of strength going to his healing seemed to leave his mind fast behind.  That's when the wheel chair was ordered, the lift, and the hospital bed.  All of which he needed desperately but all of which crushed me silently.  Dad was slipping deeper into stage 6 of dementia, a place none of us ever wanted him to reach.

The step down was as if a light had been turned off in my father's brain.  It was one of the scariest things I'd ever seen happen to my dad.

I cried another ocean of tears for him those months.

This vision I had truly came to me from above I think, to prepare me for what was coming.  As I look back now I can see that clearly.  It was preparing me for his death to come almost 3 months later, the day after Palm Sunday.  It was preparing me with hope.
It was giving me a tiny glimpse of what that hope might look like in this finite mind of mine.

The scene was like this……

My dad enters heaven.  He looks like he's 20 years old. He's well.  He doesn't have any disease or illness.  He is the spitting image of good health.  He is restored.  He is standing there facing Jesus.  Jesus has on a white robe.  My dad is in jeans and a plaid shirt.  His jeans are rolled up a notch at the foot.  He has on loafers.  They greet one another and they embrace.  Jesus has his arm around Dad and Dad has his arm on Jesus' shoulder.  They are talking, smiling and laughing. I have NO idea what they are saying to each other.  You can tell they have a relationship.  They are patting each other on the arm like they have known each other for years.   Jesus is my dad's dear friend.

Picture my dad sent to my mother .while was in the Navy

Then the scene switches.  Jesus and Dad are still standing there but over Jesus' right shoulder my mother appears in the distance.  She's wearing clothing from the 1950's.  She looks like she is 23 years old.  She has a smile on her face.  She does not wave.  She just stands there and waits.

Dad stops talking with Jesus and looks over Jesus' shoulder with amazement.  His eyes open wide.  That million dollar smile my daddy always had ensues.

"ETHEL??"

My mom responds, "JOE?!!" (She's been with Jesus for awhile now.)

He looks up to Jesus' face and Jesus says with a smile and gleam in his eye, "It's ok, Joe.  Go ahead," just like a parent would do.

My dad gives him a smile and a wink, squeezes Jesus' hand and mouths a "thank you" and Dad takes off running in those jeans and loafers.

My mom starts running toward Dad.

They meet with an embrace as my daddy delivers the swing hug of a lifetime.
A heavenly swing hug.

They are SMILING and SO HAPPY!
There is no Type 1 diabetes.  There is no Non Hodgkins Lyphoma.  There is no dementia.

Then the visions stops.

That is all.  There is nothing else.

Those images of my parents young, happy, at peace, and with their Lord brought me so much peace at this time of uncertainty and trial with Dad.  I thought about it and saw this in my head several times.
I simply held on to it and could not forget it.

In my Grief Share class I shared it.  I cried when I did.  It was this special gift from God which calmed me.  I knew Dad missed Mom.  We all knew it well even if he did not express it well.

Now my parents are together.  They are in the presence of their Lord. One day they will be completely renewed.  I'll see them again.  I will and this brings me so much comfort.