There was not to be any sleep the night of my husband’s death. Oh, I went to bed. I did everything I usually do before bed. I prepared to sleep but sleep never was to be a part of my night. I had to make my peace with life and death. I had to process with God.
And process I did. I thought about the last few minutes before my husband left to walk down to the lake. Was he in a good mood? Did he seem sick? Did he seem confused? Were there symptoms of illness that I did not pick up on? Was I in tune with his moods, his needs, his physical and emotional facets?
Yes, he was in a great mood. We had laughed and joked and our relationship was in a good place. No, he did not seem to be sick. There were no symptoms that I could have noticed. He had been weed eating which he loved to do. He was going to play in the lake with children and grandchildren which he dearly loved. Life was good.
So what went wrong? If he was not sick and not depressed, what went wrong? He was a good swimmer. He was in eight feet of water. What went wrong?
I tried to walk through the scenario all night. I visually put myself there at the scene. I, in my mind, was playing with them in the water. We were splashing and laughing and making a train with rafts and noodles. We were teasing and joking and having fun, as only family can do. We were being responsible and caring, but relaxing and staying cool in the heat. We were enjoying the lake that we love so much.
Then I visualized the final moments before he drown. I lay on the raft with him. I watched as he watched the kids and looked at them at play. How he saw with pride each of them. How precious they are and how much he loved them.
And then he rolled over and left this physical world. There was no pain. There was no discomfort. There was no panic. It was a simple movement from this world to the next. God reached down and quietly lifted him out of his body and took him to the next world. It was easy, and smooth and a comfortable transition.
Non-believers will say that during the night I justified his death in my own mind. And non-believers will find their own explanations in all things. But I know what happened during the night. I was there. I had the presence of God with me. I talked to God as if he were sitting on the side of my bed. And we argued some. I told him about my shock and my anger. I asked why I was not allowed to be more prepared.
But when morning came, I knew that God had been with me all night. He had tolerated my anger. He had carried me through the scenario many times. He allowed me to question and he had provided me with the strength to get through the night. But most of all, God provided me with his peace. He let me know that He was with me and life was going to be OK. My husband was fine and I would be also. What a great God I have that would allow me this night of processing and would take me into His heart and grant me grace and peace to live through death and life.