The Illusion of Death’s Doorway

If my rather inconsistent memory serves me correctly, it was a beautiful, sunny, summer day. I remember the purple buds on the Hosta bushes, that separated the grassy part of our backyard from the forest-like part filled with white birch and oak trees, were abundant and just right for popping. I don’t know why I was so obsessed with the barely audible sound of those blooms softly exploding when I squished them between my thumb and forefinger, but I was, much to my dad’s chagrin. That particular day, however, there was something else that distracted me from one of my favorite pastimes. Mom had just gathered us all together to give us some sad news.

“Aunt Mae,” she sadly announced, “just passed away. She died,” Mom clarified, in case we were unclear about what ‘passed away’ meant.

I was only about seven or eight years old at the time, but I was still old enough to understand that it is supposed to be a very sad time when someone leaves this world. Mom’s expression of pain and being upset set the mood and we all followed by dropping our heads and putting on our most sorrowful expression. I wasn’t very close to Aunt Mae, so the physical loss didn’t really shatter my world or anything, but I knew I was still expected to join in the sadness and pray for Aunt Mae.

I headed outside beyond the Hostas to a grey canvas hammock that hung between two large trees. I remember so clearly laying there trying my best to conjure up some tears so I could offer Aunt Mae the sad emotions I thought were appropriate. I couldn’t find them, no matter how hard I tried. I actually felt a strange feeling of joy that I knew was not appropriate. It was very confusing. Years later, when I contemplated that memory, I understood. Basically, it was because I wasn’t sad at all. I felt happy for Aunt Mae. Even at such a young age, I somehow knew that death was not as depressing an occasion as everyone thought it was, at least not for the person who died. I was glad that Aunt Mae got to go home to that incredible place that I somehow remembered in the, not so far away, recesses of my soul’s memories. It was a feeling though, not actually a memory at that time. Of course, then I felt ashamed that I couldn’t find the sadness that I knew was appropriate and so I tried even harder to cry. It didn’t work, so I just laid there staring up at the lush green canopy above me and drifted off into my world of daydreams and little girl fantasies.

Why, you might ask has this memory suddenly surfaced again right now in my life. Recently, a very dear friend of my husband and mine, Danny, quite suddenly made his transition to spirit. He went to bed one night and by the morning, he was gone. Last Saturday was the celebration of Danny’s life gathering, so he and especially his wife Mary have been on my mind continuously. Steve, my husband, and I love both of them so much. We have shared many happy memories filled with laughter, deep conversation and quite a few bottles of wine as well. Danny was and still is a kind, thoughtful, generous and funny guy. The news of his passing hit us both like a sledgehammer. We both cried deep and mournful tears. This time my tears flowed like a torrential rainfall. Yet, they were not for Danny because I knew exactly where he had journeyed to, and how happy and peaceful he was to finally be back in that place of unconditional love and unending peace.

The ache I felt in my heart and my whole body was for his wife Mary, who loved him fiercely, for his children who lost their father, and for Steve and I and his many friends who lost the physical presence of a man we all loved and cherished. Memories of going out on Danny’s boat and cruising around the Long Island Sound together tore at my heart and both saddened and lifted my spirit. Trips to wine country, holiday gatherings, dancing and enjoying time together at the Yacht club all flooded my mind as tears continued to flow. Yet, I was not grieving for Danny at all. Beneath my grief, as strange as this may seem, was a feeling of celebration and joy for the next adventure in the journey of Danny’s immortal life. It was those of us he left behind that I grieved for, knowing we would go on living without ever again seeing his face, feeling his affectionate hugs, or hearing his hilarious jokes and infectious laughter.

I have studied and experienced the afterlife a lot more than most people. My curious spirit is not content to simply believe in heaven or the spirit world which I always have. I wanted to remember it, catch glimpses of it, if possible, and feel its presence here on earth as I live out my present incarnation. Through a practice of deep meditation, inner exploration, and a close to death experience, I believe I have. I have learned that the spirit world is not a far-off place, but right here. I understand now that discarding our physical body when it is no longer needed, changes our frequency and vibration which is why we can no longer see our departed loved ones. At least most of us can’t. That doesn’t mean they can’t see us. Just because they are no longer living in the physical world doesn’t mean they are not with us. They are with us for every special occasion, every important time in our lives, and every moment of sadness when we long for their touch and their presence in our lives.

The spirit world is far more beautiful than the most spectacular places that exist here on earth. If you have ever learned about people who have had an NDE or Near-Death Experience, you will discover that when faced with the truth that it was not their time to cross and they must return to the earth plane, their first response is to remain right where they are, in that place of love, compassion, beauty, and peace. What usually draws them back here is realizing that there is more work they need to do in order to complete their life purpose. Therefore, though we grieve deeply for our deceased loved ones, it’s important to always remember that death is an illusion. It does not exist. We are immortal beings who cannot and will never die.

Yet, none of this understanding or spiritual insight can eradicate or take away the grieving process. We are still human beings with deep human emotions that must be validated and appreciated for the wisdom and growth they afford us, no matter how painful. In other cultures, death is a time of both great celebration for the loved one who moves on, but also a time of deep sorrow for those who must suffer through their grief and come to terms with the emptiness left behind after physical death.

I have lost my mom, my dad, and quite a few friends from having made that transcendent transition. What helped me handle the loss, and still does, is to shift my perception of the relationship. Instead of it being a physical-physical relationship, it becomes a physical-spiritual one. I still talk to them out loud when I need to and ask them for their advice or opinion and believe it or not, it is possible to hear their responses. We may chalk it up to imagination but what better way to get their messages through to us than through the part of us that may still believe in miraculous possibilities that our logical mind tries to convince us is merely fantasy.

So, here’s to you Danny! I love you and hope you are traversing the glorious heavens in your spectacular ship or better yet, a yacht with all the best bells and whistles and perhaps, throwing back a cold one now and then. Enjoy the journey, my friend. Slainte!

[1] Irish for Cheers!