Dreams Come True

After my husband died, he appeared in a dream. He seemed healthy and relaxed, his long white hair glowing, and he sat on our couch in the living room.

I sat down next to John. "You're here! You're really here. And I can touch you." I hugged him for an eternity, wanting his touch to last forever on my skin.

We released each other, and he took my hands into his and looked into my eyes. "I have been here all along."

This is wonderful, I thought. Now, we can really communicate with each other whenever I wish, the veil of death no longer an issue.

When I was just about to form the words to work out a communication plan with my husband in spirit so I could speak with him whenever I wished, the movement of my mouth woke me up. I had no idea I was sleeping, but the warmth of my husband's touch remained, as fresh as when he was alive.

My children and I trudged on without him. Grandchildren, decades of birthdays and holidays all passed in what seemed like a moment, creating many years of happy memories while John stood by our side, felt by us but not seen and occasionally heard.

After a lifetime, I woke up and saw my husband again. He looked even better this time, like he did when we first met, his dark hair on the long side, his eyes electric blue and no longer clouded with pain as they were in life. I looked down at my hands. They were unlined and young. I felt my face, and the skin was smooth.

He smiled at me with a perfect row of teeth. "You're here."

Instead of his touch, a feeling of peace enveloped my body, a wholeness and completeness. My miniscule life, although long by earth standards, paled in comparison to eternity—a flash in the pan, like a dream, and no less real than spending the rest of time with my best friend.