Monday night

 I realize now that I spent a good deal of today thinking about the afterlife…   It’s a strange thing to think about at work. But that’s where my head was. I find myself constantly talking to Sam… if I’m by myself, I’m usually doing it out loud .. if I’m with people I’m doing it in my head. I talk to him about food, about the weather.. about nature..  about the dirty dishes in the sink or mismatched socks.. or about problems with my JavaScript programming.  I feel like I’m on some strange ‘friends and family’ plan with the astral plane.. Am I just talking to myself..?  or is he out there in some form that can listen ?   I got home today to find two messages from the beyond. We received a really beautiful framed picture from my friend M at work.. On it was a quote that included the line: “Know that I am vibrating to a different measure, behind a thin veil that you cannot see through” We also heard for our good friend S, .that she’d been to see a spiritualist who’d told her that “Sam is everywhere and always around us in spirit. even though he didn’t have a chance to fulfill everything he was capable of, his spirit will create a legacy on its own.” I guess that’s some consolation but I want Sam with me here and now !  I just don’t know what to make of all this…   Before Sam died I don’t think I gave two minutes thought to eternity in any serious way. Now that he’s gone it seems to be all that I can think of. A few months ago I was a scientist who believed that everything we are… our consciousnesses .. our souls… were the ‘simple’ result  of chemistry  and physics..   That’s not a very satisfying answer to me now that I’m a grieving dad. Everything I’ve seen and felt since Sam died points to much more than that. It’s so tough to ponder this.       

    I’ve been reading a bunch to figure out what others think on the subject. I found that I can’t read fiction right now because my attention span is too short.. and all the non-fiction we have around the house now seems to be about grieving and loss… Reading about how to grieve  is a little like trying to learn how to ride a bike from reading a book….   sort of pointless.     With  all other options ruled out, I’ve found that I’ve been reading a lot of poetry..  I love poetry because the whole plot has to develop and resolve in a page or two.. I found the following by one of my favorite Poets, Billy Collins, the former poet laureate for the US. Here’s what Mr. Collins has to say about the afterlife:

 The Afterlife
 
They’re moving off in all imaginable directions,
each according to his own private belief,
and this is the secret that silent Lazarus would not reveal:
that everyone is right, as it turns out.
you go to the place you always thought you would go,
the place you kept lit in an alcove in your head.

 Some are being shot into a funnel of flashing colors
into a zone of light, white as a January sun.
Others are standing naked before a forbidding judge who sits
with a golden ladder on one side, a coal chute on the other.

 Some have already joined the celestial choir
and are singing as if they have been doing this forever,
while the less inventive find themselves stuck
in a big air conditioned room full of food and chorus girls.

 Some are approaching the apartment of the female God,
a woman in her forties with short wiry hair
and glasses hanging from her neck by a string.
With one eye she regards the dead through a hole in her door.

 There are those who are squeezing into the bodies
of animals–eagles and leopards–and one trying on
the skin of a monkey like a tight suit,
ready to begin another life in a more simple key,

 while others float off into some benign vagueness,
little units of energy heading for the ultimate elsewhere.

 There are even a few classicists being led to an underworld
by a mythological creature with a beard and hooves.
He will bring them to the mouth of the furious cave
guarded over by Edith Hamilton and her three-headed dog.

 The rest just lie on their backs in their coffins
wishing they could return so they could learn Italian
or see the pyramids, or play some golf in a light rain.
They wish they could wake in the morning like you
and stand at a window examining the winter trees,
every branch traced with the ghost writing of snow.

~ Billy Collins ~  

 Ack ! What do I believe ?! What can I really believe ??  Oh Sam.. help me out here… send me the user’s manual from wherever you are so I can figure this out.  

 -jc