I will never forget that dream— the one where I had died. I was floating down a beautiful canal on a wooden raft. I knew in the dream that if I got to the very end, I would meet with God. The dream then presented me with a choice. Go to the end or go back home. This narrow river or canal—or wherever I was—was the most beautiful place I had ever seen, which words cannot describe. But what struck my mind the most was this big, gorgeous, white bird. It was flying over the water. It looked like a swan or egret, only even more beautiful. The further I got down the river, I began to panic, because I knew I still had unfinished business. My choice was to go back home. Immediately, the dream rewound and I woke up, and I started another day in my broken world.
Ever since, that white bird holds extreme significance in my life. It’s in my prayers.
Almost every day, I get down on my knees and pray. I pray for Ben. I pray so hard that he will see the light—a light for us . . . a light for our son. And through this light, we would love each other again, the way we use to. Over and over again, I pray. And each time, I think of that white bird. I picture the bird carrying all of my prayers way up through the sky and placing them right before God’s throne.