Look Through the Kaleidoscope

I facilitate a grief support group for spouses, every Monday. I'm sorry if I sound like a broken record. I feel like I say this more than I say any other thing, except hopefully, I love you.

Facilitating this group and getting to know the people and their stories have become part of who I am and a highlight of every week.

This week, I planned to discuss bravery, feeling pretty brave myself after camping on the beach with my teenagers over the weekend.

But, this is their group, and more relevant this day were love letters written during courtship, mailed in time to meet their muse (who was a flight attendant for Pan Am) at her next destination, somewhere around the world.  These letters were kept, mostly forgotten, and found 50 some years later, right around the one-year anniversary of his passing.  These letters took six hours to read, all in a row.  This day, they were neatly bundled with a bow and shared with cupcakes.

More important this day, were songs sung by a cowboy who once sang for hundreds, but only for his dogs since his wife went Home.

And more important this day, were dreams of spouses-gone-ahead by spouses-left-behind.  Dreams as real as the realest thing there is.

This Monday morning, one woman greeted another.  She'd met her a few times before, but couldn't remember her name.  So, she asked her again.  She needed to know her name, because she needed to thank her.  And give her a toy kaleidoscope.

On the second anniversary of her husband's death, she dreamt.  In her dream, she was at one of our meetings.  When our meeting ended, the woman (whose name she did not know) handed her a kaleidoscope and told her to look through it.

When she looked through it, she saw her husband coming down from heaven.  (When she says this, her hand extends to the sky and her eyes spring with tears.  It feels a little bit like you were there, too, and like it is happening right now.)

Her husband looked well and happy.  He came near, walked past her, got on his horse, and rode away.  

The joy of seeing him seemed to outweigh the pain of not being able to talk or touch.  Seeing the one person you chose above all others.  Your other half...

We dabbed at our tears and marveled that someone you barely know (and who doesn't dream), could give you an opportunity you would give anything for, and yet, could not give yourself.

I wonder if Rose Marie had not been there to hand Melissa a kaleidoscope, if it would have been someone else?  Would Melissa have seen her husband on the second anniversary of his death, no matter what?

 It's hard to say.

The thing is, Rose Marie was there - giving kaleidoscopes and instructions, and by doing so, connecting her with the person she loves the most. 

Does this mean that simply by showing up and tending to our own needs and making ourselves available to others in real time, that we create unlimited possibilities for future connections - inside and outside of time?    

It seems like maybe, um probably, I'm going with yes...

I am beyond hopeful that relationships continue after death and in awe of the synchronicity of a well-timed dream and heavenly visitation.   I am also exceedingly grateful for the small, but irreplaceable parts we play in one another’s lives, knowing or unknowingly, and that a kaleidoscope can connect strangers, lovers, worlds, and us.  

I hope a peek into this Monday morning can do the same for you.

Sweet Dreams.

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