In April 2002, my older brother Bobby died at the age of 59. He struggled with epilepsy since elementary school. His seizures were controlled by medication, but from time to time, the seizures would return, and his medication would be adjusted. During one of these adjustment periods, he had a violent seizure, stopped breathing, and could not be revived.
It is hard to believe that Bobby has been gone for 10 years. I can’t say that I think of him every day now, but he comes to mind a lot. It may be as simple as picturing his face. Often, it is a scene from our lives together. Sometimes the thoughts will come and go quickly. Over the last few weeks, when the memories come, I intentionally stay with them longer, making the memories thicker and deeper.
In March, my mother Charlcye died at the age of 89. For the last 12 years of her life, mom was out of the home, living through the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s. We were fortunate to find a doctor who put mom on a medication regimen that took the edge off her irritability but did not sedate her. For several years, mom would relate to us. In sentences, then words, and finally just sounds and syllables.
Eventually, any kind of “talking” stopped. Then, she would communicate by holding my hand. I would offer her my hand, and she would grasp it firmly. I could tell how well she was feeling that day by the strength of her grip. Over the years, her grip weakened, until she was gone.
These memories of mom and Bobby do not make me sad. They remind me of the sadness that is part of my life because they are gone.
The memories also invite me to think a lot about life…and death…and life beyond death. For example, I realize that in talking Bobby and mom, I described them as “gone.” They are anything but gone. I know that because of an encounter that happened between mom and Bobby.
When Bobby died, mom was no longer talking in completely sentences. Mostly a few words among garbled sounds. You could not tell if she recognized us or not; she did not call our names.
As I was driving home after the funeral, dad called; he was very emotional. He said that when he got home and went to see mom, Eugene, one of her caregivers, asked when Bobby died. Dad told him he died Friday morning. When Dad asked why he wanted to know, Eugene said that several times on Friday morning, Mom called out Bobby’s name.
My mostly non-communicative, seemingly unaware mom was calling out the name of her oldest son who had just died.
My mom was a woman who lived faithfully as a follower of Christ. It was part of who she was, essential to her being. And I believe that she lived this faithful life until the day she died. Yes, Alzheimer’s robbed mom of her mental, cognitive, and physical abilities. But it did not rob mom of who she was as a spiritual being, which is the essence of who we all are. Over the years I have heard people speak of a loved with Alzheimer’s as “no longer there” or “already gone.” But they are there. Not in ways that are known or valued by the world, but they are there. So I encourage you to relate them in that way.
For most of us, the line between this world and the next is clearly marked. There is life before death and life after death.
And it is the presence of our mental, cognitive, and physical abilities that make us feel this clearly marked line. But for mom, over these last years, not in spite of but because of her Alzheimer’s, the boundary between this world and the next was fluid. She lived in both realms. She knew the wonder of both of them. It was from this place in both realms that a mother sensed her son passing from one realm to the next…and so, she called out his name.
Of course, I cannot prove this, but it what I deeply believe. And because of the power of this story, when I think of Bobby and my mom, it doesn’t feel meaningful to say, “They are in heaven.” It feels strange to admit that. Going to church, I’ve heard about heaven all my life. But I’ve never really thought about it that much. I don’t imagine what it will look like. I don’t wonder what people are doing or how they are being in heaven. But my mom’s death is recent, and it reminds me of my brother’s death 10 years ago. And because of the conversation between them I described above, I have been thinking about what is beyond this life. The only word my religious tradition has given for that is heaven, and it doesn’t bring me any real meaning or comfort.
The truth is I don’t really know what is being described when I say the word “heaven.” There is not an image that comes to mind that connects me with them, or others who have passed. Maybe that’s why most of the descriptions of heaven that I hear involve taking all that we have experienced on this earth as good…and expanding it to become what we experience all the time, and without limits (There’s got to be baseball, or golf, or some other activity we like, in heaven). It’s like we are making heaven in our own image. Of course, it makes sense to do that when we don’t have any experience of the afterlife.
Afterlife. It is the most popular cultural term for heaven, and it really doesn’t carry much weight.
Perhaps our culture uses “afterlife” because embedded in every dream of life beyond death lies the threat of discontinuity. Will I still be me on the other side of death? Will I still possess the memories, desires, and affections that made my earthly life unique? If not, how is heaven different from extinction? We crave a heaven that will validate, not repudiate, all we have seen before.
Is it possible to entertain the idea that there is something else that I could be or I could become that contains who I am AND is new and completely different from the self I am right now? Is that idea scary? Can it be inviting?
I notice that I am asking more questions than giving answers. But the conversation between mom and Bobby tells me the place we call heaven is very near. Heaven is not a place out there. It is very different, but it is not out there. It is very near. For now anyway, I don’t need to picture my mom and Bobby in a place called heaven. It is enough to be open to feeling them and responding to them right here and now, if I open my mind and heart to their real presence.
I am eager to hear your images of life beyond death that you find meaningful…or unhelpful. How do you experience the presence of those who have died?
I’ve always had conflicting feelings about the place called heaven. For a while I thought heaven was not an after-death experience, but what your life was here on earth. My life personally has always been filled with people who loved me, a nice home, plenty to eat, a good education, and job opportunities. Realizing now that so many people live their lives in hunger, poverty and war negates that idea.
I love the thought of being reunited with my parents, husband, and other relatives in heaven, but I realize that for some people that might not be something they look forward to.
My current feeling about life after death doesn’t include another “place.” I think you live on in other people after your physical being is gone. Maybe in your children, your siblings, maybe your friends or students. Maybe in someone your life has impacted whether you knew it or not.
That’s where I stand now. We’ll see where my thoughts and feelings go from here…..
Thanks for sharing Nancy. I appreciate your awareness that for some reuniting with family does not sound appealing. Maybe part of what happens in whatever is next is healing and reconciliation as people have the limitations removed that keep them from changing. Of course, I also think it is possible that there will be those who do not want to change even in a more full presence of God. Maybe hell is being in God’s presence…and not wanting to be there.
I also appreciate you awareness of those who struggle with hunger, poverty, and war. That is one of the reasons I struggle with how make heaven into our own image, what we want/enjoy.
Gary
Having experienced the personal loss of relatives, and having been bedside at the deaths of literally hundreds more I, too, have pondered this topic. For me, Heaven is not a place…it’s not “up” as I was taught as a child, nor is it a specific location. In my experience and understanding, Heaven is a state of being. We are, at our essence, spiritual beings. To be in Heaven, for me, would be to be more firmly established in God’s presence … for my spirit to have left the darkness and temptations of this world to live in the absolute peace and love and light that is God. And will others be there? I am certain of it. This intimacy with God is promised to all who believe. Having heard the stories of some who have gone through Near Death Experiences (NDEs), I believe that relationships bound on earth are not necessarily severed by death, but that death is merely a morphing of that relationship from one of physicality to that of a spiritual nature.
Heaven as a state of being, more firmly established in God’s presence. I like that.
Deep thinking. Deep questioning. I recently turned 85 and find myself reflecting on my own “truths” keeping some and dismissing others. My most succinct opinion is… death of the physical body but not of the essence of the person. Somehow a continuing existence of the soul… a different state of being. If there is an afterlife I will exist in it. If there isn’t it will be like Peggy Lees’ song 🎶 “Is That All There Is?”.
Grace and peace!
Lillian
Thanks for sharing you thoughts, Lillian. Hope you are well.
Had a long drive today and was able to think about this question. Having been privileged to be present at 3 death and the peace and beauty was undeniable. However, I wonder about the kids in a jeep who hit a bomb or the person who is hit head on by a semi… peaceful? Years ago I was in a questioning phase about God and did a Lenten project to take a picture of two trees during the 40 days. In the beginning, they were very similar in small little projections and the similarity continued for a very long time, but suddenly there were leaves and structures and veins that were so very different and finally the dogwood bloom and the dropping of the oak tree. It seemed the mystery was obvious and had to be a force beyond what I knew possible. This weekend I noticed a beautiful hummingbird arriving just as predicted and finding my feeder then it suddenly decided to try a organic plant instead. Heaven? I don’t know but a mystery works for me… hoping to be recycled as a hummingbird and go organic all the way.
I just got around to reading this today. Maybe there’s a reason for that. Mother’s Day is always bittersweet for me because fifteen years ago on Mother’s Day my husband and I left Corpus Christi, Texas to go pick up my older sister Penny in Florida and bring her back to Texas to die three weeks later. She was eight years older so we were never very close but she was my only sibling. At some point in my later teens we spent some time together. She talked at length about the opera Carmen, so much so that it made a distinct impression on this teenage girl and I’ve wanted to see it ever since. In April of 2018 I put seeing the opera Carmen at the Santa Fe Opera on a Vision Board among several other things. I have checked every year since and Carmen was never on their calendar. About three weeks ago I checked the Santa Fe Opera website and there it was, the first show that popped up. The next day my friend Jana came over. We got on the website and because of conflicts had narrowed down to two weekends in August. The first one just didn’t gel. Down to the last option, I looked and told Jana there are two tickets on the front row. She said buy them! And I did. Then it suddenly dawned on me and I said to her “Jana, this is on Penny’s birthday. I think she had something to do with this.” And tears welled up in my eyes, of course I can’t prove it, but you will never convince me otherwise.
P.S. I have recently read and highly recommend Room of Marvels by William Bryant Smith for a very different and beautiful view of heaven.
What a beautiful story Suzan. When I have shared my story of Bobby and mom before, I often say that the only explanation that really makes sense is that she felt Bobby and responded. To mom, to Bobby, and to Penny!! Enjoy the opera. That is a beautiful setting!!
Way to dump a load on my tiny mind! First, I don’t know that I want to be me for all eternity. So maybe when you die, you get to jettison your bad parts and keep the good? But if you do that, then am I still recognizable me? (Ref: Star Trek, episode with Good Kirk and Evil Kirk). Second, I have always liked the phrase ‘surrounded by a cloud of witnesses.’ I have had enough experiences of the piercing of the thin veil not to believe that there is more Magic and Mystery than my, again, tiny mind can begin to imagine. Guess I’ll wait and see and marvel in the meantime!
Glad to oblige!! 🙂
I am with you. I don’t know that I want to be me, or all of me, for all eternity. That’s why I believe that growth, change, development continues to happen in whatever life is next. And hey, marveling is not a bad way to spend the meantime!!
I just finished a very little long personal message answering a dear friend’s message about the endless valley of the shadow she is in trying to care for her husband’s very advanced “life” with Parkinson’s. The valley may seem endless… but we go THROUGH it one step at a time … and we never go through it alone. I am tired of typing now. But I am grateful to her still being in my life after more than fifty years of hills and valleys. At the moment my concept of an afterlife … as a life … is continuing motion … mountain tops … and valleys are both holy
Thank you Michelynn.
Prayers to you and your friend.
Gary