Warm regards, everyone, this chilly Christmas morning.
I've received so many kind wishes, photos and different forms of support over the last few days that I can barely keep count. Please accept my deep thanks, if I haven't contacted you individually.
I'd like to share with you some of the dreamwork that surrounds this experience, for me and for us as a collective. I beckon my dreams and honor them as divine communication, and am finding some fantastic healing images are coming through.
The night before Nancy passed away, I had this dream:
I'm in a hospital, and I've been there as a patient for a very long time. I'm very weak. Some friends come to visit, and they tell me I can get out; they bring light-colored clothes, help me dress, and start me on a journey out of my room. I follow their instruction, go down the corridor, down an elevator to the ground floor, heading towards the outside. I encounter a few medical staff, who ignore me, and a patient in a hospital gown, who looks at me in pain, as though she is stuck inside her disease process, and recognizes that I am not.
On the ground floor, it gets lighter and lighter as I get closer to the outside, and natural daylight starts to filter in. I go through several unmarked doors to head in the right direction, until I finally open a door to full bright daylight. It's a parking and delivery area behind the hospital, but the light is so bright I can barely open my eyes.
The last words I said to Nancy before she passed were, "I love you, I release you. Now turn towards the light."
Early this morning, another dream came through.
I'm in UCSF hospital, walking through the ICU to visit Nancy. When I get to her darkened room, and slide open the door and the curtain, I do not see her or any of the medical equipment or bed. Instead, I see a row of candles, small lamps and colored lights beginning in the middle of the room and vanishing into the distance and the darkness, like an infinitely-long strand of the best Christmas tree lights you can imagine. All the lights are different, and they are close together, so the lights merge and become a straight line of never-ending color.
I find a lot of comfort in this image. It's so fresh that I can't say anything else yet.
The morning that she passed away, ten minutes after her heart stopped, one of our friends had the following dream, which they have graciously allowed me to share with you.
Nancy Jones and I are in a small rustic wooden structure, something like a cabin on a large lake somewhere. There is a small number of other people there (maybe 10 tops) but no one from outer life. The mood is happy and comfortable but not raucous, joyous or overly celebratory. It feels like a group of friends getting together for no particular reason. Nancy is dressed as she often was when we were in the MS together – white t-shirt and black tights.
A time comes when Nancy wants to leave but, for some reason, she does not want to use the door. Instead, she wants to go through an opening that looks like a small window with no glass in it. It's about maybe 12-15 inches square and is about the height of a decorative window that you might find in a door, maybe 3-4 feet off the ground, but it is in the front wall. I quite frankly don't think she will fit through it and tell her she should use the door but she insists and does get through the window. I also get outside but don't really know how I got there.
Outside there is a small boat, like a rowboat but with a small gas outboard motor. Nancy doesn't know how to handle this boat so I have to teach her how to steer and how to use the twist throttle. We go together in the boat as I teach her how to do this. Although she has never piloted a boat before she picks it up very quickly. We motor over to something that looks like a small breakwater made of concrete that curves over to the shore. I get out of the boat on top of the breakwater and Nancy takes the boat and heads out into the lake.
This person didn't know that Nancy and I were married at the family cabin on a lake in Canada five years ago, and that we intend to scatter her ashes there this summer. It has always been her favorite place in the universe.