My husband, Mike, passed away a little over three months ago.
Unable to remember his age, a few weeks before his death, he asked me, “How old am I?”
I answered, “83, my love.”
“So I’ll be 84 in November?”
“Yes,” I answered. But we both might have been wondering if he would make it to November 23. Still, he appeared to be mulling this over and perhaps making plans for that day.
November 23rd came and I faced his birthday without him. The phone rang. Aunt Lynette, who shared a confidence and special friendship with my husband, had just passed away.
Was that his plan? Did he come and help her cross over to the other side on his birthday? I like to believe so.
I’ve been pretty sick with the flu lately, or I would have posted this sooner. Three nights ago, Aunt Lynette was with me in my dream time.
She was old and frail just like in life, and still wore her oxygen. She lie on a couch and I was there taking care of her.
There were other family members there, but they were going out to shop. I was supposed to go with them. However, I declined as I worried that Aunt Lynette might get up and fall, or even worse.
My aunt attempted to persuade me to go with the others. Leveling with her, I told her she was in no condition to be alone — and I wanted to be the one to stay with her.
We finished our little talk and I crossed the room from her. Don’t remember where I went, but when I came back into the room, my aunt had fallen and was stretched out on the floor.
“Oh, Aunt Lynette!” I felt so guilty for having left her bedside.
She had been a heavy lady in life, but I managed to get her back up on the couch with ease.
A few minutes later, she sat up with more strength than she had shown in the past couple of years. I noticed she no longer wore her oxygen. “Aunt Lynette!” I exclaimed in confusion and concern.
“It’s okay,” she told me. “I’m better. I’m healed. I am well.” She smiled. “You can go now.”
“No. You’re not strong enough,” I answered hesitantly, even though I knew instinctively that it was indeed time to leave her.
“I won’t try to walk alone, don’t worry.” She smiled. “Go.”
I remember putting on my coat as I walked away from her beaming face.
It is reassuring to realize she and my husband are in good company.
I do believe that we must die here in order to be ‘born again.’ My husband and my aunt now live their best life.
