It was past midnight. I’d been lying in the dark for half an hour, unable to sleep. My mind was on my late husband, Hardy. I squeezed my eyes shut. God, please give me some kind of sign that Hardy is okay.
Hardy’s passing had been so traumatic that, six months after he passed, I still wondered if he was at peace. The weekend Hardy had died of a heart attack, I was in Michigan doing a gig with my singing group. When I got home on Sunday, I found him on our bedroom floor. It was too late. He was already gone.
“Help!” I hollered and ran out of the room, out of the house. My neighbors were there in a flash, holding me, comforting me. They took care of everything over the next few days, as I just tried to get my bearings. After his death, I never went back into our bedroom. Ever. I slept on the sofa until I was able to sell our house and move.
Hardy’s passing left a huge hole in my life. In addition to being my spouse of 43 years, he was my business partner and my best friend. For much of our married life, we’d had a communications company that designed audio systems for large spaces, such as airports and stadiums. We traveled to venues all over the world for work. Wherever we were, he’d always find me toward the end of the day. “I’ll be home soon,” he’d say, winking at me. It was an inside joke, a humorous way to acknowledge that we never actually left each other’s side to go to our respective jobs. I loved that daily check-in. It reminded me of the loving connection we shared.
I turned on my side, trying to get comfortable. I missed Hardy so much. I longed to see him, to hear his voice. I wanted to know that he was okay. I wanted to say goodbye. Eventually, after much tossing and turning, I fell asleep.
Then I was dreaming. I was walking down a long hallway in a big stadium, just like the stadiums Hardy and I always worked in. At the end of the hallway, I found myself in the seats, about six levels up. I looked to my right, and leaning against a concrete support wall was a dear friend who worked for us for decades. She was smiling and nodding, as if to affirm that I was going in the right direction. To my left, sitting on a platform near the aisle, was my husband’s best friend, who’d passed about a year before Hardy did. He had headphones on and was working an audio board. He just nodded his head, smiling. He signaled that he wanted me to follow his gaze. I did, and across the aisle and up a level, standing behind an audio console and smiling down at me, was Hardy! He looked better than when I’d last seen him. His hair was no longer gray but dark brown, like it was when we’d first met. He was positively radiant. I felt an incredibly powerful love wash over me. Hardy walked down the stairs in front of me. He came up to me, wrapped his arms around me and kissed me. Then he looked into my eyes and said, “I’ll be home soon.”
I awoke the next morning, smiling at the lingering memory of the dream. My prayers had been heard. Not only was Hardy okay, but our connection endured. To heaven and back.
