This will be my last blog post for the duration of Lent. I have elected to give up social media in most of its forms and return to my wayward practice of morning scripture reading, prayer, and journaling.

This is not the post I planned nor the direction I intended for Lent, but I cannot shake the intensity of some recent dreams, wondering at their meaning, eager to contemplate them further with both God and my therapist.

My ex-husband has been dead for two and a half years. We had not spoken for two years prior to his death. We divorced twelve years ago. Still, the stains from our tumultuous relationship continue to ooze through the scars every now and then.

I have had many dreams over the years of us getting back together. They always ended the same way. I “woke up” realizing what a mistake it was for us to think we could get back together. I feel trapped and ashamed. I wake up (for real) sighing with relief that it was only a dream. These dreams remind me that, as painful as it was to walk away, it was the right decision.

These recent dreams have been different – sort of. They have certainly felt different, as if there is something someone is trying to tell me. Some lesson I am supposed to take from the dreams.

In the first same-but-different Brad dream, I was sitting in a living room talking to someone. My phone rang. It was Brad. His voice was as clear and as real as I remember. He was at a bar drinking with friends.

I was shocked. I scooted to the edge of the chair, stared in bewilderment at the man sitting in an adjacent chair, and spoke into the phone, “How? It’s not possible. You’re dead!”

Brad laughed and assured me that he was not dead.

“But I was there. I kissed your dead body – in the casket – at your funeral.”

He laughed again and said, “Oh that!” as if my kissing his dead body lying in a casket was nothing extraordinary. “Turns out I wasn’t dead. I have been in a coma in the hospital for two years, but I’m good as new now!”

He went on to talk about seeing me, about us getting back to the way we were. I tried to take it all in, but nothing made sense – until it did. Putting aside the fact that Brad was somehow alive, he called me from a bar – where I am sure he was drinking – again. Nothing had changed.

A sense of dread came over me. Part of me was glad – for his family’s sake – that he was alive and well, but for my sake, it would have been better if he was dead. I could not go back.

“But we love each other,” Brad pleaded when I told him no. “That should be enough.”

I thought about it, wanted it to be true, but I knew us. “No, Brad,” I sighed. “Love is not enough. Not for us. Not anymore.”

When I woke up, I realized that most people would do anything for their loved ones to come back, to find that their death was some horrible mistake, would be ecstatic when they received that phone call. Not me. Even in my dream, I realized I would not be happier if Brad were alive. I know Brad would never want to come back. He was ready to die. And as for me, I’m no longer looking over my shoulder. I had forgotten how I used to fear the what-ifs of Brad’s drunken and manic moods. He never touched me, but he could have. I could see in his eyes what his anger in those moments could compel him to do. One moment. One misstep by either one of us. His grandma used to call him her sweet, sweet, sweetie, and most of the time he was. But on those other rare occasions . . . No. Love was not enough for us. We are both better off. That is not to say that I do not miss him, but . . .

In the most recent dream, Brad was dead – or so I thought – but he would still like and respond to my social media posts. I liked this – being connected to him from beyond the grave. I liked still feeling that connection to him, the good parts of him, the parts I miss desperately. Connected from a safe distance.

Then, one day, it occurred to me that there was no way Brad could be dead. Dead people do not respond to social media posts!

When I called Brad on this, he asked me how I knew. I said, “Simple! Why would the dead want to waste their time staring at their screens when they have the beauty of heaven and the companionship of Jesus to occupy their time and attention? That’s absurd!”

Brad admitted that he was alive. He simply wanted a way to stay connected to me and that was the only way I would let him be close to me. I knew I had to cut him off – fully and completely – now that I knew the truth. This made me sad, but there was no other way. Like all the other Brad dreams I have, there is no going back.

In my dream, the second I made this declaration to Brad, it dawned on me the absurdity of keeping our noses buried in screens here on earth. We miss out on real beauty and real relational connections. When I woke up, this thought stuck with me. I grew up without technology. Now, I am addicted on some level just like everyone else. Getting off Facebook was huge, but Instagram has become another time waster.

I don’t understand these dreams – the why or what – but the realization from the last dream impacted me enough to encourage a social media hiatus – including this blog. Lent is as good a time as any to give these habits a rest.

So, until April . . .