I think that the ability to believe in something bigger than ourselves is one of our greatest blessings. It is truly a magical and comforting way to live. To think bigger is a gift. There are many things in this life that we cannot see. We cannot see air, but we are not questioning it’s existence.

I believe in God. I believe in a life after this one. I believe that we know all of these things when we first get to this planet. It is my thinking that tiny babies and small children are very aware of these truths. But, over time they become more plugged into this life than their last, that they no longer have such a close connection.

When little Riley, who I wrote about in my blog yesterday, said that she saw a boy in the dining room, we were very careful that we didn’t say there is no boy. Perhaps a lot of imaginary friends of little children really are their relatives who have passed or are their guardian angels. Isn’t that a wonderful thought? Who are we to tell them otherwise? I love that when Riley saw this photo of Joe, I saw immediately the surprise and recognition on her face as she pointed and said, “That’s the boy in the room!”

Next time you hold a tiny baby and you see them looking over your shoulder, smiling, at what you think is nothing…. think again.

Riley doesn’t know that I am a mama who misses her son. She doesn’t know that her words were not only comforting to me, but a confirmation of feelings that, I too, often feel. ¬†What would we all think about death if we, too, could see the boy in the other room? There is a poem that many, many people sent to me after Joe’s death. This is part of that poem:

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.

So, like knowing that air exists, I know that life after death does as well. I have no fear of dying. None. When you no longer have a fear of dying it changes the way you live. I have often said that when God took Joe from me, he gave me other gifts in return. One of those gifts was the faith and belief that death is merely the shifting from one life to the next. Death is not an ending, but a step. A step into a life so wonderful that, even with my wildest imagination, I cannot comprehend.

All is well.





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  1. kim swift Says:

    I believe it also happens at the end of life. My grandfather died within a few months of my Dad. His dementia, speech, bodily functions, etc. were so bad after a major stroke that he was never told nor could he have understood that he had passed. The day Pop Pop died, he kept pointing over my mother’s shoulder saying, “Bob”. I believe my Dad came to meet him and that God allowed my mother to witness this because she was still so shaken and wracked with grief and about to step into more heartbreak. She often spoke of what a comfort this was to her. I really think there’s a very thin veil between this one and the next.