Some might argue that it is strange to want to explore what happens to us after we die.
And their argument might be correct.
It is kind of strange, but it is also kind of beautiful.
To me, when someone dies and they go somewhere else, it is natural to want to know where they went.
It is as if they opened a door, went inside, and it closed behind them and you cannot go there.
I understand it is not my time to go through that door, but nothing should stop me from looking at the door, trying to open the door and ask others where the door leads to.
You see, love does not end when we die.
We love the person who died. Maybe even more than we did when they were alive.
Love goes through that door with them and goes wherever they are.
I see the door he went through when he died, and I hold all these keys trying to open it and go through it, not to join him, but to discover a little bit about the place he has gone to.
I am going to be honest and say that I am doing this for myself first and then for you.
I want to know for me.
And I want to know for you.
Would it change the way we grieve if we knew without a doubt that there is life after death? Would it allow us to re-enter life after loss easier?
Would it help to know that the people we loved and lost are experiencing a different state of existence and they are more than OK?
I think it would help.
It would help me to know this.
So I look at the door he went towards and look through the keyhole, through the gap under it. I put my head on to it to listen, just in case there are any sounds coming from the other side. And this is when I realize the door lives inside each of us.
The door is not outside of us, it lives inside.
All we need to do to find out what happens to us after we die is to close our eyes and use our imagination to see what is behind that door.
When I close my eyes I see that we never die, we never lose our awareness.
As a matter of fact it expands.
We are even more alive than when we were inside our bodies.
We feel more, see more and we do all of those things outside of time and space.
Without the past and the future.
Without a timeline of any kind.
Nothing ends and nothing begins.
It just is.
Writing this today makes me uncomfortable.
Makes me more vulnerable to the world.
But denying my thoughts, my own evolution and my own journey is not an option.
This letter to you every week has always been personal.
What do I mean by that?
I mean that all you have to do is close your eyes and bring them closer to you.
Talk to them. Remember them. Ask them questions.
Spend time with them when you miss them.
But then say goodbye and go back to living your new life.
Go back and breathe the oxygen.
Go back and use your body to move, and run and thrive.
Today’s letter is for you if you question your ability to connect with someone you love who no longer is here. Don’t question it.
Just trust that you can go to them when you need to.
Yes, I know it is no longer the same.
They can’t hold your hand in the way they used to.
They can’t laugh with you at the movie theater. Or can they?
Maybe they can, but you can’t hear them. But wait…
Close your eyes and imagine them laughing with you.
Do this right now with me.
Close your eyes, remember their laughter.
I know you can hear it. I know you can.
And it is as simple as that. As easy as that. And as hard as that.
I am with you.
Learning to do the same as you, trusting my own ability to connect to the other side of that door.