The ringing of the doorbell was immediately greeted by fierce barking from inside the house. My visit was with a woman at home with hospice care. Waiting patiently my mind gently ran through options ranging from a forgotten appointment time to a crisis that had taken her from her home. Then I heard a distant voice telling me to come on in.
In spite of her frail body, I was greeted with warm and
active eyes. Her very vocal companion let me know I best be coming as a friend….
The subject of life after death seemed to naturally weave
itself into our sharing. The Hawk Visit is one story that often has relevance when we are musing about the after life. I mentioned that our book club is reading Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon's Journey into the Afterlife, by Eben Alexander.
I also shared two of my favorite quotations from Roadside Assistance for the Spiritual
Traveler, by my friend Rabbi Rami Shapiro.
(November/December 2008)
What happens when I die?
Where does an ice cube go in a tub of warm water? You are the cube, God is the water. For a while you seem separate from the water, but eventually you melt – you die – and discover that you, too, are water. Have fun being a cube; just don’t forget that all cubes are water, and everything is God.
(January/February 2007)
Imagine that the universe is a rope and you, your mom, and all things are knots in that rope. Each knot is unique, and all knots are the rope. When we die our knot unties, but the rope that is our essence remains unchanged: we become what we already are.
Life after death is the same as life before death: the rope knotting and unknotting. The extent to which you identify with a knot is the extent to which you grieve over its untying. The extent to which you realize that the knot is the rope is the extent you can move through your grief into a sense of fearless calm.
For me, the rope is God, the source and substance of all reality. When your mom dies she relaxes into her true nature, and realizes who she always was and is: God. I believe this realization comes at death regardless of who we are or how we life.
She tires easily, so our precious time together for the day was coming to an end when
she said, "It would be so much easier if I could trust that this dying
leads to a good thing."
I encouraged her to trust that our leaving our bodies is natural and safe by looking at nature. Every autumn the trees in
Michigan let go of their leaves (I had keyed in lives) without fear of the future. Each spring new life
breaks forth. I reminded her that everything is energy and the first law of physics
is that energy can be neither created nor destroyed.
Later that same day, a friend came
for dinner. After dinner she read to me a section of Choices: Taking Control of Your Life and Making it Matter, by Melody Beattie. My friend had randomly opened to this section
earlier that morning, about the same time of my home visit:
The famous "Death and Dying" lady lay on the
hospital bed in her living room. She couldn't get up. A series of strokes—19 or
more—had left her severely handicapped. Paralyzed on one side. It was morning.
She was thirsty. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross said a
quick prayer. "God, please send someone. A cup of tea would be so
nice."
(Melody describes how she came to be
there that day, how she helped Elisabeth dress, and then made her a cup of
tea.)
Elisabeth looked at me. "What
do you want to ask me?"
Now it was my turn to clear my throat. "Do you really believe in life after death? Are you afraid of death, at least a little bit?" I asked.
Elisabeth laughed. "Didn't you
read my book, dear?" she said. "It's not about believing. I know
there's life after death. Dying is the easy part. It's life that's hard."
I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Thank you. And have a safe trip home."
I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Thank you. And have a safe trip home."
