On the night of the day my husband Jim died, I went through the motions of preparing myself for bed, certain I would not sleep a wink. I approached the empty bed, but for some reason, I was drawn to sleep on his side.
To my surprise, I sensed his presence, and a blanket of unmistakable calm came over me. I did sleep that night, and after that, it became a comfort to go to bed, as if Jim was waiting there for me. And why wouldn’t he be? He had been there for 46 years.
This is not to say that I did not go through the normal emotions of grief. In a church support group, our facilitator reminded us often that we had to experience our grief before we could begin to heal. She suggested setting aside quiet time in a peaceful place to allow these feelings to flow freely.
I was doing just that one Sunday afternoon, taking in the healing expanse of the ocean through my living room window. As I gave in to some quiet tears, our little terrier Bella, who had been asleep at the other end of the house, bounded into the room, jumped onto my lap, and began licking my face. I don’t know how she could have heard me, but I took it as a sign that Jim had sent her to cheer me.
I began to notice other signs of his presence. I saw his likeness in the profile of my precious two-and-a-half-year-old grandson Phoenix, and I felt him there, too. Once, as I read my daughter an old love letter from Jim, my voice began to crack. Phoenix, busy with a toy on the far side of the room, suddenly called out “I love you, Grandma!”
Now, years later, my grandson is still showing me this special affection. When he stays overnight, he strokes my face while I read him a bedtime story. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel the touch of my husband.
I believe that one needs only to trust one’s intuition to take in these experiences. Sue D. of Santa Cruz says her house seemed so empty after her husband died. She was thankful that they had previously put two living room lights on a timer, so she never had to come home to a dark house.
On the night of his service, she slept very soundly. In the morning, she discovered the living room lamps were still lit but found nothing wrong with the timer. She says, “Then I got it. It had been overridden by my husband, who was remembering and honoring me by letting me know he was OK…a perfect gift from the beyond.”
Betty W, a widow from Rhode Island, says that even after her husband died, she felt his presence in making household decisions, a chore they had shared as partners. “I needed to sell our house because of some impending law regarding older homes, which would have adversely affected me if I remained. This had been an ongoing problem, and now it was mine alone,” she recounts.
“One night, I awakened from sleep, and standing at the bottom of my bed was my husband…for only a second or so. When I blinked, he was gone,” she continues. “Shortly after this, the house sold without a problem. After I saw him, I knew it would. The bonds of love do not break with death; they continue but in a different dimension.”
Not long ago, my husband’s sister Beth called from Wisconsin to tell me that she had a comforting dream about him. She had been praying about a family crisis, and Jim appeared in her dreams. He hugged her for such a long time that she could still feel his warmth when she woke up.
Could it be that we not only remember our departed loved ones, but they, too, remember us? Although I will always miss my husband’s physical presence, I now believe the spirit of those you love can stay with you forever.
