Nedra, 2008 – When God Stirs You

Picture of Nedra Benoit
pictures of Nedra Rita Guillot Benoit

Today, July 19, 2017 (10 years and 5 months to the day of her death), I came across a piece of writing that I had penned on a scrap piece of paper about a year and a half after she had died in 2007. Rocked by what I remember about this dream and what I also had forgotten, I feel the need to share it. I have told people about this dream many times over the years, but I cried reading the actual details of it. I had not remembered it completely right, but the point is all the same.

May it bless those who need it.

Here is what was hastily written on that piece of paper in 2008:

August 2008, Connie Benoit Sirois.

I have not dreamed much of my mom in the year and a half since her death. It’s not that I don’t think of her every day; it’s just that she doesn’t enter my subconscious dream world much. The couple of times that she has, the dreams were typical. In one, my mom was alive and well, and I awoke missing her more than ever. In another, she was sick in the hospital and none of us could get to her side to sign the life-saving paperwork. But in this last one (the one I want to detail today), she was speaking to me—not from the dream but from heaven—literally speaking to me. My dreams of her, as I recall them, play out like a passage through the stages of grief; denial…bargaining…acceptance.

This precious last dream brought the resolution my soul needed. It was a mother’s last touch—a mother’s final embrace. It did not wholly heal me, but it has taken me to a better place in my grief.

My mother and I were walking together and talking over life’s issues as we always had. No special place. No special time. No special subject. As our conversation went on, I began to question whether I could really be talking to my mom because I knew (even as we had been conversing) that she was dead.

The more I questioned myself, the fainter my mother’s voice became. When she became really impossible to hear, I found myself desperate to know the answer to one final question, “Are you happy where you are?” I asked. But there was no answer. “MOM” I called louder, “are you happy?” Still no response.

What seemed like a long time passed, and I began to replay our conversation in my mind. Our conversation had been so real. Why had that been so real? The more I thought, the more I believed that my mom had truly been with me. So I asked one more time, “Mom, are you truly happy in heaven?” This time her voice spoke to me. I could not see her, but I could feel her voice as if it were holding me. She said, “Yes. I am happy. And when you are sad, I am holding your hand.”

I awoke, overwhelmed with emotion—overwhelmed with the sense that my mom had been with me. I felt her holding me. I feel it now. In my dream, my mom was with me as long as I believed that even in death she could be with me. When I doubted, she faded.

Life has been particularly hard since my mom died. And in the days, weeks, and months surrounding my dream, I had found myself in particular sad times. How uplifting to be reminded of the depth of God’s love, for it was not only my mother reaching out to me that night. God himself made that dream a reality, letting me know that I only need to reach out and “someone” will hold my hand.

Blessings to all of you.

Connie

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