If you seen my other article apocalypse you will remember this for sure and I am going to attempt to explain what I think it all meant.
First, it was around 2003 summer. My husband was a twenty-year veteran of the army. He went to VA about once every six weeks for blood work and the like. Well I had gone with him one time on one of these appointments. It was found that his last blood work showed he was acutely anemic and that tore at my emotions. I told him he needed to get an endoscopy and sigmoidoscopy his reply to me was, “ain’t nobody sticking anything up …” Well I am sure you can guess the rest … I mean him being a manly man. I made so many appointments and he would say that he had to go to PR to be with his father who was dying of cancer.
Well, as we were going into 2004 I had a dream. There was this tunnel. It had many demonic beings and I do not go to church every Sunday. I do however say my prayers every night before going to sleep. I am not as adamant about this since … Well, I will get to that later. Anyway there was a lot of screaming in the tunnel and my husband was at the end of this tunnel and I was not afraid. Well not at the beginning—I knew that I was the only one who could get him out of that tunnel and the beings were telling me that I had to walk down through the tunnel and take him out. And also telling me that I did not have the faith to save him.
It was about this time I look down the tunnel again and he was pleading with me to help the children out then come for him. See one thing you need to know about my husband he was very mentally ill, and, while I make no excuses he was extremely abusive to me. I have no doubt he loved me. He also had a problem with drinking that was the thing that got him started. He leaned on me emotionally—he was a strong strapping man but emotionally he needed a lot. Anyhow moving on, it was then that I realized my children were in this tunnel also.
I did not hesitate to walk straight through that tunnel and bring my children out and they were begging me to help him. And that is exactly what I was going to do. You see, I have always, in the twenty years we were married, was the one who was able to facilitate and control everything just as I was as a child (with my alcoholic mother). I turned to go get him and I realized I was shaking with fear and this was a task I could not do. I was terrified—my legs would not take me back into that tunnel.
I woke up trying to make sense of the dream. I had just realized that my husband was vomiting profusely this continued on, every single night without fail he would wake up vomiting, until I suppose about two to three months later. Now mind you, I still could not get this dream out of my head. It had me very stressed.
Then one night two or three months later, I finally went to sleep without this on my mind. Then I had another dream.
I was standing in what seemed to be the clouds, and there was a gold casket before me. And with every intention of seeing someone in the casket, I gazed upon it. I looked into what I believed was the face of the person in the casket and that was not what I saw. I saw a black cloud where the face should have been. It was at this time (in my dream) I became acutely aware that the black cloud was there to make it easy on me, but there was no doubt that it was my husband.
I awakened sobbing horribly and shaking him awake telling him that if he did not get the scopes done he will most certainly die. He laughed and hugged me and said, “No way I have two boys to raise, and a three-year-old grandson.
No matter what I did I could not get him to take me seriously. So, after a few months I made a deal with him—if I had the scopes done and he watched to see what is was all about, he would have it done as well.
Well, the appointment was out some months down the road. His was set to be done on the twenty-ninth of December 2004. It was around the twenty-third we got a call from his mom. She was sending him the money for an airplane ticket and was not sure if he would make, but his dad was near death and wanted to see him. He arrived on the twenty-fifth of December that year and he stayed in the room with his dad talking to him off and on all the night through. Finally due to exhaustion I suppose, he fell asleep. He woke to find his father had passed at about the time he dozed off to sleep.
He was an emotional wreck. I had to speak with him for hours to calm him. So now I am thinking I have to get him home so he does not miss this appointment. I decided to call his youngest brother and I pleaded with him to do what he had to do to get my husband home as he is very ill.
He agreed and asked what he could do. I told him to pick a fight with him and get physical, ugly, whatever he had to do just do it. It worked and I had him at his appointment as he came home that very day. I was elated.
At the doctor’s office I watched the screen intently as the camera went its course. As he passed the esophagus into the stomach there was a huge—I don’t really know how to explain it—but I continued to watch as the doctor took samples. To me there was no doubt it was cancer, and my husband continually asked me, “Do you think this is bad?” All I could say (without looking him in the face) was that everything was going to be okay.
On January twenty-fifth 2005 he went back for his follow-up. He told me to stay home and wait for the kids to get home from school. They were not home before I got the call. It was him—he sounded very distant and said you need to come to the office.
Sobbing the whole way, and clearing and cleaning up before entering, I walked into the room. There was just silence for what seemed like an eternity. The doctor was pretty much saying it had gone way too far. Nothing could be done. However, he wanted us to get another opinion.
Pretty much the same answer there. But he wanted to fight so I had to find some one (a doctor to go along). The Cancer Treatment Centers of America were great people—everyone there—they paid for our airline tickets, the ambulance to take him home from the airport, and all his oxygen. This was in mid-July.
Right near the end he was here off and on, other times talking to his father and grandfather. He had been so far from God most of his life. The dream started to make sense that I could not pull him out of that tunnel—he had to do it. There was nothing I could do for him. So I told him, “It would kill me if you died and did not go to heaven.”‘
He began to break down as he had not done from the beginning and sobbing he said, “I am not supposed to die yet, I am too young!” I sobbed with him and said I know but that is out of our hands now. The priest came in upon hearing us saying the prayer together and I immediately stopped and offered for the priest to take it from there. I was told I was doing a great job and to continue. He then placed an interest in getting baptized.
I called the preacher that baptized me at the age of sixteen. He was like a father to me he came early the following morning. My husband, upon being baptized, seemed to completely relax.
It almost seemed from the top of his scalp he had surrendered. He died three days later peacefully at home in my arms. I am sure that is what the dream was for—to give me time to figure it out and thank God I did. There is no doubt in my mind that he is sitting in heaven talking about that day also.
Oh, by the way, about a week before his death I was getting him cleaned up and medicated and he sat up in the bed. He said to me in the most sincere voice I have ever heard on him, “Baby, I am so sorry for all the hell I put you through. You have been the best woman, the best mother, and the best wife any man could have ever asked or even dreamed of.” He started to quietly cry and said “Will you forgive me?” I gave him a great big whole-hearted smile and told him that I forgave him years ago.
Please tell me if you think the same or different about the dream give me your twist on it.
Thank you for being patient with me and taking the time to read this. God bless.