Mary came to me in a dream last night.
Well, at least she almost came to me in a dream.
I haven’t spoken much about the role faith has played in my healing and will to live, but it’s not a subject that can, or should, be ignored any longer.
With any thought regarding mortality beliefs about what happens in the after life come into play.
I have always been fortunate to have a deep faith in God and a confidence in the existence of relief in the afterlife from suffering.
Unfortunately, it is just this faith that terrifies me as well.
Earlier in the week, I’d gone to sleep early, like I usually do.
The GVHD causes such pain in my eyes that by 6:30 it hurts too much to keep them open.
I go to sleep not because I am tired, but because the artificial lighting and pain is too much to bear.
I’ve officially had all the pain I can withstand for the day.
This dream was like others I have had before, I was being attacked by demons.
They were demons that on first glance looked like people, gorgeous people, but quickly warped into monsters tearing at my skin.
They claw at my body and try to tear it limb from limb.
I again managed to shake them away, not by force, but by faith.
I stated that I belonged to God and they disappeared, just as they usually do.
This time was different, however.
This time I didn’t wake suddenly, disconcerted and in a cold sweet after shaking the demons off.
This time I continued to dream and after the evil had left, I could see a bed in front of me.
It was a mattress on the floor in a ramshackle abandoned building that appeared to be in a building belonging to St.Mary’s Church.
The sheets were dirty, but suddenly a light from the hole in the ceiling began to shine down on it, and as the light was shining down, star-like objects began falling onto the bed.
I suddenly felt at peace.
Then, I hesitated.
I felt apprehensive about what was about to happen, and just as quickly as it began, I heard a soft nurturing voice say, “Do you want to do this again?”
I said “yes,” and as soon as the words had escaped my lips, the image, the voice, and the room was gone.
I’d been sent back down several levels to the base floor of the school, that appeared to be a cross between St.Mary’s School and The College of New Rochelle, both Catholic schools I had attended.
I was left to wander around the corridors and into a classroom, and it was there I woke up.
I woke up face smeared to my bed, my body feeling like the weight of the world was on top of me and wondering if I was, in fact, dead.
But I hadn’t died. I’d opened my eyes, again, like I’ll do so many times in the future to see my husband, staring at me, concerned.
The following day my respiratory system worsened, and I knew that I could choose to let the process take its course or run to the doctor for my steroids.
I chose to get the steroids.
Xander had prayed for a Christmas miracle.
He had prayed that I would be better by this time this year.
Miracles do come. They come in all different shapes, sizes, and figures.
Just because my health came in a pill does not make it any less real, I am still cancer free.
I do not want to be his reason for losing his faith when it is faith and love that has kept me alive for so long.
During this Christmas season I hope that while we’re all running around shopping, baking cookies, and celebrating with friends and family that we can all remember the true reason we are rejoicing.