Last night I dreamed that I died.
This is not an uncommon dream for me, but this morning I forced myself to wake up. I just didn't want to see myself die... again. I've developed this coping mechanism over the years, this ability to force myself awake, to shield myself from nightmares and, also, painful memories from my past.
Death is inevitable.
I know that it's coming, and probably sooner than I'd like.
I know I will die long before my husband does.
I know I am both ready and unready for this to happen.
My spirit longs to be in God's presence.
This keeps me from having a fear of dying.
My body is ready to be done with all the pain, torture and torment it continues to go through.
My mind is not ready.
I worry about my kids.
What will their relationship with their dad, my husband, look like after I am gone? How will my passing impact their relationship with God? I want it to draw them closer, not give them reason to retreat. That is my greatest fear.
I know people think I'm weird when I talk about my death. But the fact is, I need to be prepared, to have things in order. I will be a control freak until the end!
My ability to talk about my death speaks to my relationship with God. How others react to it speaks volumes about their inability to understand that relationship, and me.
The longing to be in His presence is overwhelming. Just the small taste I've had of him here makes me want more.
It doesn't make me sad.
I know He is a safe place.
I know He is waiting for me with arms wide-open, a big smile on his face, I see myself running into his embrace like I do a dear friend I haven't seen in a very long time.
He smells good. Better than downy.
His arms are strong, but he holds me gently. It's even more soft than the blanket Cinnamin made for me.
I snuggle in and he says "I've been waiting for you".
I'd rather dream of that any day of the week.
