Tuesday, March 7, 2023 was not a particularly significant day in my life. I had gotten through it alright. Keeping busy at work helped to distract me from the deep sense of loss and loneliness that marked most days since my beloved Ann Marie traded Earth for Heaven. Grief was coming in waves, as it usually does for widowers. One day, I could be fine—energetic, positive, ready to move on. But then the very next day found me hanging on the crumbling edge of a deep black pit, fighting not to slide in.

So much for another Tuesday. I remember feeling somewhere in between those two extremes. Lately, I had been questioning how I could possibly live alone after having experienced a wonderful twenty-eight-year marriage. I loved being married—even the challenges. Ann Marie and I had something extraordinary. I couldn’t have wished for a better wife…a closer friend. We had so much history. So much passion. So many dreams. How could I go on without that? How could I even think of doing it with anyone else?

I had been wrestling with those thoughts all day. It was only by Divine intervention that I didn’t push myself into despair over it. That night, I remember having a fitful sleep. Why not? It paralleled my restless day. There was one good thing, though; I dreamed about my Ann Marie. We were together again—blissful, passionate, united as one.

When my phone alarm sounded at 6:30, as is often my habit when I’ve lost sleep, I reached over to the nightstand, turned it off, and tried to doze. I wasn’t going to be much good to anyone that day anyhow; it was the two-month anniversary of Ann Marie’s passing. Might as well try to get a little more rest.

That, however, was not meant to be. I had reached a point of being on the edge of REM sleep, not quite deep enough to dream but certainly not awake either. My phone chimed, indicating a text message. In this pre-dream state, I reached out to the nightstand, grabbed the device, and sat up to see who would be texting me so early in the morning. Strangely, the text app screen was already open. On it was the image of a golden astronaut, sort of an embossed line drawing coming at me in 3D. The only word accompanying the picture was “Hi.”

As I stared at the image, I wondered who would send me such a message. There are some people who know of my love for science fiction, but few would send me such an unusual picture with just a “Hi.” Feeling perplexed and intrigued, I looked up from the phone, turned aside, and there she was. My Ann Marie was standing about six feet in front of me.

Mind you, this was all happening in what I call a pre-dream state. My bedroom was either gone or blurred completely from vision. There was no environment around us save for a dull whiteness or still fog. I stood, faced her, and thought, “Oh. It’s you.” No words were spoken by either of us; we communicated through some sort of emotional transfer. I radiated pleased surprise, and Ann Marie conveyed a knowing amusement through one of her cute, trademark smirks. She looked radiant—not literally shining, but her face was fair and placid. Appearing neither young nor old, she seemed untouched by time, an adult in her prime with no trace of blemish, injury or illness. Her thick, dark, curly hair had grown back to shoulder-length, returning to the way it looked before chemotherapy stole that magnificent mane from her. She wore a simple black sleeveless top that followed the contours of breasts that had also been given back to her after losing them to a surgery that was chasing disease underneath. Standing before me, her legs were covered by flowing white dress pants. So, Italian, I thought. So elegant.

After she let me fully take in the sight of her, she communicated to me through emotions. “I’m fine, and you’re going to be alright.” Again, nothing was actually said, but I received the thoughts as easily as hearing spoken words. Then, she raised her arms and smiled warmly, as if inviting me to give her a hug. I felt my body move toward her. Our arms wrapped tightly around each other’s bodies. I buried my face in her flowing hair. Just like old times.

While we embraced, a sudden thought overtook me, and I spoke it out loud. “Oh, my! You’re standing! You’ve gotten your legs back!” Creeping malignancy had deprived her of the use of her legs in the month prior to her passing. But here she was whole again, strong and standing firm as if to declare her total healing.

I began to weep in her arms. Tears of joy, tears of pride, tears of separation. And just like that she evanesced, and the entire vision faded. Inadvertently, I must have broken heavenly protocol. There was not supposed to be any speaking, and certainly no crying. It was as if Heaven said, “That’s not the way this is supposed to go, so it’s time to end it.”

When the vision was gone, I awoke and found myself still weeping in my bed, facing the spot where my beloved should have been sleeping. I remember feeling sad, yet happy. Lonely, but not completely alone.

Confirmation had come, whether or not I was really seeking it or needed it. I suppose I did. I suppose I was looking for something that would keep me moving forward. I already knew where Ann Marie was. I have proclaimed her total healing since she passed from this life into life eternally perfected. I didn’t need a vision to show me that it was all true. But maybe I needed a vison to show me that it was okay to move on.

Was it all just a dream? As soon as I awoke on my tear-soaked pillow, I knew it was more than that. We all recognize what a dream is. I’ve had some great and memorable ones as well as some that I wish I could forget. But we know that dreams are just “movies in the mind.” A vision is something else. Its reality goes way beyond that of the most vivid of dreams. Visions have important messages—important meanings that are intensely personal.

In the Bible, God sometimes spoke to His people through dreams and visions. Scripture also tells us that “in the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams” (Acts 2:17).

I never put limitations on my God. If He wants to communicate with people in such a manner, He will. In my vision, nothing about the afterlife (Heaven) was shared. Indeed, Ann Marie never spoke. She simply showed herself to me—healthy, whole, and happy—and conveyed her peace to me through an emotional transfer. I didn’t need proof that she is in Heaven, or proof that Heaven exists. I’ve been fully convinced of that for a long time. The two of us talked of it often, our faith being our confidence and guide. I already knew where she was, that she had been completely healed and even perfected, and that I’d be joining her there one day. I wasn’t looking for a sign, proof, or a visit. Yet God, in His measureless love, allowed me this vision.

I’ve spoken to many people who’ve had similar experiences. Much of the time, their vision is very similar to mine. Years ago, I had the same kind of vision about my father who had passed away a year or so earlier. There he was, neither young nor old, smiling and conveying the idea that he was okay and encouraging me to keep doing a good job raising my family. A wordless message that left me feeling at peace with life here and excited for the life that is still to come.

The fifth verse of the popular Christian hymn “Be Thou My Vision” goes like this:

True Light of heaven, when vict’ry is won

may I reach heaven’s joys, O bright heav’n’s Sun!

Heart of my heart, whatever befall,

still be my vision, O Ruler of all.

As I move on with Act 2 of my life on planet Earth, I will always have that vision of Ann Marie to provide me with comfort and confirmation. For those of you dear readers who knew her, I hope it does the same for you. Most importantly, I pray that the “bright Heaven’s Son” will fill your heart with the same peace and strength that have kept me sane, kept me going, and kept me confident. He’s done it for me, and He can do it for you.

Easter 2023 is upon us. It’s a most holy day that has to do with death, resurrection, and living forever. I can’t think of a more pertinent time to share my vision with you. Seek, friend, and you shall find.

Next post…a much-needed update on Project Eden. (Yes, it’s still on!) Until then…be awesome!