This morning, G and I went out for a regular Saturday breakfast. Not a fancy Sunday brunch, but a breakfast after a short run where both of us had to walk. What better than to treat ourselves then to eggs and bacon? And meandering conversation.
When you get to this age- he is 65 and I am 57 (actually had to count backwards to arrive at that conclusion today)- death is becoming a closer friend. We have one remaining parent between us. His son required a heart transplant, and will probably die before we do. MY aunt died unexpectedly after a short illness this past year. A dear friend had a severely debilitating stroke just a few months ago- we are all scrambling to provide bridge care, though to what end no one knows. Death has become more a constant companion than a once a year visitor.
A few weeks ago, a friend awoke to the news that his 24 year old son had died in his sleep. I’m not privy to the circumstances, but he was a healthy and seemingly happy young man. We are not so close that I would know the details- but really, they don’t matter. Whether it was cardiac arrest or an overdose or COVD- your child is there one day, and then they are gone. It is a nightmare.
My friend has been posting on Facebook- sharing pictures, lamenting his loss and grief. It’s absolutely heartbreaking. The other day, he relayed a story wherein in his darkest hour, a woman appeared before his sister in Costco with a message from his son. She tapped her on the shoulder and told her she had a message to convey. She said that he was so strong and happy. That he had served his purpose in his life and that he had fulfilled everything he was meant to do here and that he was with God and now God was using him for other things.
Back to breakfast. With death becoming our closer friend, I asked my husband what he thought of such a circumstance. He is a Buddhist. In our discussion of this incident, he admitted to it being extraordinary, even as he was saying it was most probably delusional. And I pushed back on this because who are we to determine what is real?
So many horrible things have been done in the name of God. I cannot entrust my heart to such corruption and destruction.So I can’t say that when we die, we go to heaven, and there we will be reunited with our loved ones. But I can’t not say that either. I am a possibilist, if there is such a thing. I’m not sure what happens when we die. I doubt we ascend the stairs and speak to Peter. I seriously doubt we continue in any human form. I’m not sure if I will see my mother or father, and I’m not sure I want to.
But I hold myself open to the possibility that K’s son communicated with him through a lady in jeans and a sweatshirt in Costco. That I will reconnect in spirit with those whom I love. That perhaps this mortal coil is only one manifestation of consciousness. I choose the possibility.
— Cristine
When you get to this age- he is 65 and I am 57 (actually had to count backwards to arrive at that conclusion today)- death is becoming a closer friend. We have one remaining parent between us. His son required a heart transplant, and will probably die before we do. MY aunt died unexpectedly after a short illness this past year. A dear friend had a severely debilitating stroke just a few months ago- we are all scrambling to provide bridge care, though to what end no one knows. Death has become more a constant companion than a once a year visitor.
A few weeks ago, a friend awoke to the news that his 24 year old son had died in his sleep. I’m not privy to the circumstances, but he was a healthy and seemingly happy young man. We are not so close that I would know the details- but really, they don’t matter. Whether it was cardiac arrest or an overdose or COVD- your child is there one day, and then they are gone. It is a nightmare.
My friend has been posting on Facebook- sharing pictures, lamenting his loss and grief. It’s absolutely heartbreaking. The other day, he relayed a story wherein in his darkest hour, a woman appeared before his sister in Costco with a message from his son. She tapped her on the shoulder and told her she had a message to convey. She said that he was so strong and happy. That he had served his purpose in his life and that he had fulfilled everything he was meant to do here and that he was with God and now God was using him for other things.
Back to breakfast. With death becoming our closer friend, I asked my husband what he thought of such a circumstance. He is a Buddhist. In our discussion of this incident, he admitted to it being extraordinary, even as he was saying it was most probably delusional. And I pushed back on this because who are we to determine what is real?
So many horrible things have been done in the name of God. I cannot entrust my heart to such corruption and destruction.So I can’t say that when we die, we go to heaven, and there we will be reunited with our loved ones. But I can’t not say that either. I am a possibilist, if there is such a thing. I’m not sure what happens when we die. I doubt we ascend the stairs and speak to Peter. I seriously doubt we continue in any human form. I’m not sure if I will see my mother or father, and I’m not sure I want to.
But I hold myself open to the possibility that K’s son communicated with him through a lady in jeans and a sweatshirt in Costco. That I will reconnect in spirit with those whom I love. That perhaps this mortal coil is only one manifestation of consciousness. I choose the possibility.
— Cristine
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