Dreams – mine are vivid, complex, weird. Sometimes I dream and I know it is a dream, but only a handful of times since childhood. The last one I had was in February this year. I am 85-ish years old and I pop into a scene in the library of our home, mine and Greg’s, however, he has already gone to Heaven. I am alone.

I feel grief as I sit on the grand overstuffed couch in the white shelved library. My eyes wander the extensive collection of his books as I rest in front of the quiet inactive fireplace. Sitting in this space brings me comfort in my widowhood. I realize this is a dream, a life moment in time travel. I jump into the story to explore what life may be like: my body, my thoughts, my home, my family. I take an assessment before the movie reel runs out and I wake to real life.

My Dream Life:  

My body: I am walking with no assistance – remarkable to be in my 80’s and not need a walker, cane or wheelchair since Rheumatoid Arthritis is a “progressive disease”. My body is old, but it still works fairly well. I wear a blouse and skirt, comfortable shoes, hair up although I don’t think to find a mirror to see my face.

My thoughts: I am grateful for the marriage Greg and I shared for 30+ years. I miss him dearly, but know I will see him again. I use his library to connect with memories and feel close once more – it’s been a few years, but grief peeks its head in again from time to time. This is the only sadness I experience.

My home: I have a view of the mountains, but am in a quiet neighborhood, probably on a hill or rise. I can walk to most any place I need, the pharmacy, doctor, restaurant, grocery store. The house is older, renovated, but not extravagant. There is a private patio out back to enjoy nature. The front yard has old trees and a sidewalk in need of repair. I realize Greg had set up a handyman service for me to call in case I need such things done.

My family:  I stand at the front door and see someone approaching. My youngest great-granddaughter is already at the house in the living room, likely she spent the night. She has red hair and is about 11 years old. The other great-granddaughter, about 13 years old, lives close and walks with her mother up to the front door. The girls love each other dearly and sit together on the floor in close activity over something I cannot see, a book, tablet, who knows by then. The mother smiles and heads back out to walk home. I ask the girls, “Would you like to go out to breakfast this morning?” They look up and smile at me. A walk to the local diner is in order today and I am content.

I wake up. What if this IS my reality? or what if it’s not? No matter. The dream gives me hope. It shows a quiet, meaningful life in my end days. My health is good – whether through miracle or medical advances – my body functions well. It encourages me to impact my family with love, grace, and be a spiritual example. It redefines purpose in my marriage to continue to be the godly wife and partner God asks of me and have a deeper thankfulness for Greg.

I am good with this vision of a life well lived, a race well run, and enjoying my end days walking with my great-grandchildren in love and grace, watching them play, eating breakfast at a diner, and enjoying their smiling faces.  Only God knows how my life will end. I trust He has a grand plan – He always does.

“For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time for my departure is near. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.”  2 Timothy 4:6-8 NIV