Afraid Of Dying? ... Afraid Of Living!

by: Edward B. Toupin

Over the years, I've heard many people voice their concerns of death and dying. It wasn't that they had any maladies that would cause them to die any time soon, but they were "afraid of their own immortality." The basic idea of death, or the potential of death, created a mind-numbing fear that, in some cases, forced them into isolation to avoid anything that could increase their chances of dying.

Although this might sound like a gruesome topic, it is important, as one of the most common situations associated with a fear of dying is actually a "fear of living." One fears death because they've not learned how to live. They are afraid that there won't be enough time to live a full life and in the process waste the time worrying about not living. Believe it or not, this is more common than you might think.

One of the other, underlying, reasons for fear of death is the ingrained parental voices of society and religion that, indeed, we will perish in the afterlife. One needs to evaluate the realities of their spiritualism to ensure that those beliefs provide comfort and support throughout life. However, why must one examine spiritualism externally since we are our own gods and our own spiritual essence?

From some of the situations I've noticed in my work and studies, many of my clients, and others, have a distinct belief in something outside that creates their essence --- or on which their essence is based. By believing and honoring this "thing", "being", "organization", etc., they feel as though they are part of something greater. It also provides them with "softer answers" to the "larger questions" --- otherwise known as faith. Indeed, there are no soft answers and it is in those realities that we can grow and eliminate fear.

Of course, I can't blame these individuals for feeling and believing the way they do as their ideas have been handed down over the generations by society and religion. If these ideas were to be ripped from them, it would throw them into a whirlwind of confusion and instill hatred that they were misled all these years.

It is seen by society that control is easier to maintain on fearful "lost sheep", or "cattle", that have faith in a supreme being --- "authority". If people believe in themselves and their own internal gods and spiritualism, then they no longer belong to a group and can no longer be swayed to the will of those in power.

In fact, by allowing people to believe, and teaching such beliefs, in their inner gods and spiritualism, they do indeed belong to a group --- a much larger group consisting of everyone and everything --- this instead of segregating groups by concocted, shaky, and fear-inducing beliefs. Could this be the answer to many of today's problems? Instead of pointing to a multitude of greater beings and dictating what these beings tell each group of believers simply to create a rift at the political and religious levels, perhaps by believing in oneself as the creator and understanding that we are all creators that the turmoil might decrease or desist.

Of course, that would eliminate the separations of political and belief-based organizations. Of course, this could also eliminate the desire to move forward in life as the idea of competition on many levels would change. Instead of working to win, become rich, and attain power, we would work for the betterment in ourselves, of ourselves, for each other, and to increase our own internal power.

The idea of using external influences and deities is primarily based on one's belief system and as such is necessary for many to establish a spiritual side. As noted, it is easier to offload one's own responsibilities and destiny on to a faith-based entity than to accept that we choose and define our own destinies. But, to resolve, it is essential to replace that belief with a sense of reality; however, that is a slow and laborious process that will take centuries to unravel as it took centuries to instill.

In the long run, your internal beliefs and desires are the only things that can provide you with a life of wonder and excitement that overshadows the inevitability of death. As they say, the two things you can count on are "death and taxes." So, such circumstances are inevitable and cannot be avoided. Therefore, they should not be planned into your life! Taxes will happen every year on April 15th and death will occur when it occurs. But, sitting and waiting in the interim for the "inevitable" won't make it go away, nor will it make it easier to manage. Life is the only thing that you have control over, so your only options are, sit quietly and die inside until your physical death catches up to you. Or, you can live life to its fullest and not worry about what will happen in 40 or 50 years. Just worry about how well you can live right now and create something solid for the "memory banks."

About The Author

Edward B. Toupin is an author, life-strategy coach, counselor, Reiki Master, technical writer, and PhD Candidate living in Las Vegas, NV. Among other things, he authors books, articles, and screenplays on topics ranging from career success through life organization and fulfillment. Check out some of his recent print and electronic books as well as his articles covering various life-changing topics! For more information, e-mail Edward at etoupin@toupin.com or visit his site at http://www.make-life-great.com or http://www.toupin.com!

Copyright (c) 2004 Edward B. Toupin

5-17-04

Some Near Death Experiences:

1. Floating above your physical body and viewing the scene of your "death."
2. Moving down a tunnel towards the Light at the end of the tunnel.
3. Feeling overcome by love or terror when meeting the Light/God/Christ/Buddha.
4. Meeting past relatives and/or friends and/or beings who console and advise you.
5. Experiencing a review of your life and a judgment of your life's actions.
6. Coming to some sort of new understanding about your life and/or the workings of the Universe.
7. Going back to your previous life, if appropriate, or, in final death, moving into your next dimensional existential realm.

5-18-04My Inner Voice speaks to me often saying, "Remember who you are." I am the Christ... I am one with God."

5-19-04

My Inner Voice said to me last night to, "Hold God's Law in your heart." Hold, obey and cherish God's Laws, as you understand them, and obey them according to your highest light. God's Laws are the stair steps to ascending to spiritual enlightenment.

5-20-05

I think the main fear about dying is the possible pain involved and the condition of the deceased body after death... An older person may die quite peacefully in bed, fairly comfortable, with family gathered around... and the person will just drift off to sleep.

5-23-04

The following excerpts are from, Diary After Death, by Franklin Loehr.

Mr. Loehr studied methods of developing psychic abilities and has evolved a safe, spiritual, and effective method of exploring psychic phenomena.

What is not yet well-known, and something this book will go far to establish, is that in this quarter century and more of psychical research and the development of other mediums, Franklin Loehr, himself, has developed into one of the most able and penetrating mediums of our generation. His scientific research has given him solid bases of careful discrimination and judgment. And his own psychic ability has given him many years of personal experiences and mediumship.

So it is Franklin Loehr's own psychic ability which, unexpectedly, opened the doors for this book, Diary After Death, to be brought through to Earth.

5-25-04

Diary of Death

Tuesday, April 8

MY DEATH

I died exactly one week ago today, at about ten minutes to one. It was within fifty feet of my own office building door at 135 South LaSalle Street, the Field Building, in Chicago, coming back from lunch. Gertrude (she's my wife) says I ought to keep a diary now, just as I used to do back on earth.

She says it will make interesting reading for Arthur and Betsy, our two children, when they come over. And because, if I write it down now as it happens, I can keep it straight, instead of only trying to remember later what happened.

I didn't know at first that I had died. I was just walking along, coming back from lunch, when suddenly several people coming toward me looked startled and one started to run forward. I looked back to see what they were looking at, and there, on the sidewalk, a man had just fallen. I turned back, too, to see if I could help.

He seemed to have fainted, I thought. He was just sort of crumpled up, there in the middle of that big sidewalk. HL's brown hat, with the red feather for giving to the United Charity Fund, just like mine, had rolled a little ahead.

By now six or eight of us had reached him, and someone said, "Here, let's straighten him out." Two men did so, and underneath him was a brown plastic zipper case, just like mine. They laid him flat on his back, a fellow probably about sixty-five, five-foot-nine or so, weight, one-seventy, I should judge, and someone started to fan his face.

Strange, how peaceful he looked, I noticed, just as though nothing had happened. But, as I looked at him, I began to feel restless and less peaceful myself. I had a feeling that something was wrong here. And then suddenly it hit me. That man was I! The hat the zipper case the topcoat and brown suit the face, the body lying there that was I.

I jumped forward, pushing the others aside, and started giving him, or me, mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. But he--I--didn't come to. I couldn't even seem to get any breathing motion into him. I covered both his mouth and his nose with my mouth, tightly, and blew with all my might. Air went out of me and I was breathing all right but no air
seemed to go into him.

Just then a police car drew up. I could hear the driver calling headquarters for an ambulance, even as his buddy jumped out and hurried over. The outside policeman, even before he reached me, called to the one in the car, "I think he's dead, Fred." The driver repeated into his radiophone, "Presumably dead send ambulance."

He then hauled a portable breathing machine of some sort out of the car and the two got to work. I remember how impressed I was with their efficiency and their training, even while a hundred other thoughts seemed to be rushing at me.

In just a minute or two, it seemed, we heard the siren of the ambulance. They took out a stretcher, put it on the sidewalk beside my body, then put my body on it. Somebody handed my hat to one of the policemen. He put it on my stomach. Then he and one ambulance attendant lifted the stretcher and put it in the ambulance. The other ambulance attendant had taken over the breathing machine, which they kept going.

The other policeman looked into my zipper case, and I thought, "Why, they don't even know who I am yet." Then it, too, went along with my body. As soon as the ambulance was on its way and they worked very quickly and the policemen took out little notebooks and asked if anybody had seen it happen. Several raised their hands.

But no one there knew who I was. Quite a few had gathered around, but now they started to disperse, some shaking their heads, all looking sober. Nobody paid any at attention to me standing there. My dead body had gotten wonderful attention, but not I. Nobody seemed to know I was there.

All of a sudden, I thought, "Should I have gone with the
ambulance?" After all, what could they do about my body,
without me? But it was too late now. I didn't know where
they had gone.

The policemen finished their notes, got back in the squad car, made a report on their radio and then rode off. I didn't know quite what to do, so I went on up to my office, rather out of habit, I guess. My partner and I have a comfortable little tax and accounting service, Johnson & Clements (I'm Henry Clements), on the thirty fifth floor---one room each, and another room for our secretary-receptionist, Mrs. Albertson, who wasn't back from lunch yet.

The clock said just 1:11. Twenty minutes, I thought, counting backward. I had figured I'd be up here by five minutes to one, and it never took more than three or four minutes to walk into the building, get an express elevator... they're really fast in this building... and be up here. So I must have died about ten minutes to one. Just about twenty minutes ago. Twenty minutes dead now.

I laid my hat, coat, and zipper case on my desk and sat down in my office chair to figure out what to do next. After all, just what is one supposed to do when he's just died? I didn't quite know. But as I just sat there, sort of stunned, it gradually dawned on me that I was looking at my hat. And my hat wasn't supposed to be there. They had taken my hat away in the ambulance, on my stomach my body's stomach.

I gradually thought that. Some thoughts come very quickly, you know, but others come gradually. And, as I thought it, gradually, my hat faded away before my very eyes and disappeared and just wasn't there! It was spooky to see something as solid and real as my own hat just fade
out into nothingness and disappear before my own eyes.

Then I looked at my zipper case. It was right there, same as ever, and I reached out and felt it. It was very reassuring to find that it was there, very solid and real, and I pulled open the zipper and started to take out the Welch account folder that I was working on.

But how could the zipper case be here when I had seen the policeman put it in the ambulance, too? And, as I thought that, the zipper case and the Welch folder just sort of evaporated as the hat had done. I found myself holding nothing and looking at nothing, with only my bare desk top showing through.

"So I really must be dead after all," I thought. "Well then, Gertrude. . ." Gertrude and I had been married thirty-nine years before she died, almost two years ago. Two long years. How I had missed her, I guess only I would ever know. But now it dawned on me that, if I, too, were dead now, and yet alive, well then maybe, just maybe, Gertrude.

"I love you. Henry," I heard her say, so naturally I
didn't even jump. I just slowly turned to where she always
sat when she came to the office, in the easy chair in the
near corner, and answered, "I love you, Gertrude."

Oh, it was so good to see her. Partly, I suppose, because of the strain of the last twenty minutes probably twenty-three or twenty-four minutes by now. But mostly because I was just so glad to see her, to be with her, again. My Gertrude!

I got up as in a dream and went over and sat on the arm of the chair and held her head close to me, just as we used to do. And then I kissed her on the top of her head, and on the middle of her forehead, and on the tip of her nose just as I had done for thirty-nine years.

Then a very real fear swept over me. Was she there only because I had thought of her? Would she fade away, too, as my hat and zipper case did, if I thought she weren't there? "No, silly," she answered, laughing. "You can't get rid of me like that! Over here your hat and your zipper case and a lot of other things are essentially only thought forms. But, I' am REAL"

5-27-04

Wednesday, April 9

GERTRUDE AND I

Gertrude said yesterday I should stop writing just there
where I did, because I am still recovering from a certain
strain on my system. It is like convalescing from shock. After
all, a lot happens that first week when you come here — your
death, someone up here getting through to make contact
with you, your funeral (funerals can even be dangerous, I
found out), and your getting settled in over here.

So I quit writing. Gertrude had a light lunch ready; then
we went out into our garden and talked over old times. And
she told me more of what she had found out over here before
me. This business of 'To go to prepare a place for you" has a
whole lot to it, I found out. Gertrude certainly had prepared
the way for my coming over, and a lovely home for us over
here.

Her mother had met her when she died, Gertrude told
me. This did not really surprise me, for in her coma — well,
Gertrude had a stroke at 7:22 in the morning on June 8,
nearly two years ago, and died the next night in the hospital.
I stayed with her every minute.

She did not really regain consciousness, but several times she
whispered "Henry" and then smiled. And just a minute or so
before she died, as I sat beside her, she said, "Mama, Mama"
and that smile had come again on her face. Then her breathing
slowed down and stopped.

So her mother had come for her even before she had
quite stepped across the line. And this happens many times,
she said. Gertrude reminded me of some of our friends who
in years past had reported dying loved ones as speaking out
the names of family and close friends who had gone on before.

She says they probably really saw them, even before
they were quite gone over. And as soon as Gertrude had
become fully aware of her mother, she had found her father
also right at hand, then a former high school teacher who
had been particularly close. These three had gotten Gertrude
over here and settled.

With me, it had been thought best to work a little differently.
I had loved my parents, but they had both died quite a
long while ago. Gertrude. Arthur, and Betsy were the ones
closest to me. Since Arthur and Betsy were still alive — what
a silly phrase that is, "still alive"! How egotistical, how ignorant, to speak of those in an Earth body as "still alive" and the rest of us as "dead"!

Well, anyway, only Gertrude was over here, really close
to me. And, for various reasons, it was thought best by my "Committee," the small group here who had my death and reestablishment in hand, if only Gertrude would meet me at the very first.

That was all right with me, of course. And she said that, within two weeks, I would meet my parents, various old friends, some members of my "Committee," and the one who will be my teacher over here.

But I've gotten ahead of myself. It was 1:11 Tuesday afternoon, April first, when I got back to my office, already twenty minutes dead. It was four or five minutes later, I suppose, that I discovered Gertrude there. And, as Gertrude and I talked, it seemed as though I could hear a buzzer ringing intermittently somewhere, but it didn't seem too important.

At just 1:28, however, Gertrude pointed to the
clock and said, "In two minutes Lucy will be back from
lunch." Lucy was Mrs. Albertson. She had been with us for
seven years and had always been very prompt. "The police
are trying to phone her about you." So that was the buzzer!
"It will be quite a shock to her." Yes, that would be true.

"But there isn't much we can do, unless we can get through
to her."

I put a question mark on my mind — Gertrude and I
were talking just as we always had, yet somehow it was
different, more with the mind directly, and she answered,
"Right now, while you are still very real to her, before her
mind has had time to classify you as 'dead,' and while you
yourself are still right 'here on Earth' and haven't gone any
place yet — she should be able to see you."

"In fact, if she doesn't shut it out as impossible, she may be
able to see me, too. I'll put myself as much as possible into
the Earth frame-work. And you just sit there, relaxed and
natural — smile at her — and concentrate on everything as
it has been. We'll try."

Here Mrs. Albert son came into her office. The door to
my office was open, so we could see her. She hurried to
answer the phone. "Johnson & Clements," I heard her say.
Gertrude's mind repeated to mine that the caller now
identified himself as a Sergeant Groans and asked if I
worked here. "Yes, Mr. Henry Clements. He is one of
the partners."

Then, of course, the news of my death. I could see it hit
her hard, and I started to get up. "Sit still!" said Gertrude.
"Remember, relax!" I settled back and in my chair.

"About 12:50? - right out front here? - heart - death
instantaneous — the body at Madison Avenue Receiving
Hospital — closest relative? Yes, he has a son and a daughter,
both married — yes, I'll let them know — then they should
call you? — give me that number again —."

She copied it down, hung up the phone, then seemed to wilt
into her chair. I felt very sorry for her. Why should my death
have to bring hurt to other people, when everything was really
all right?

"I'm going to try to bring her in here now," I heard
Gertrude say, or think, to me. And within a few moments
Mrs. Albertson did gather herself together, slowly rise, and
come to my door.

Gertrude and I sat there as casually as possible, looking at
her and smiling, just being ourselves as she had known us.
Her eyes were drawn to us immediately — Gertrude in the
big chair, me still sitting on its arm, my arm around her —
just as Mrs. Albertson had seen us many times before.

"Oh, no, it can't be! It just CANT be!" she blurted out.

I could hear Gertrude, "Oh, but it is! We are here. Right
here. We aren't dead, Lucy — there is no death. Remember
the Church, the Bible, Easter?" Mrs. Albertson was a staunch
Presbyterian. "We are alive — both Henry and I. And so will
you be, when you leave Earth behind. God gave you life,
and you take that life with you when your body dies."

"Goodness!" Mrs. Albertson was obviously talking to
herself. "I almost thought that I saw him — her, too — both
of them. Oh, 1 do hope they are back together again!" And
with that her eyes, though they were still looking right at
us, sort of glazed over, or came unfocused on us, or some-
thing. Then she broke down into sobs, standing there with
both hands on my desk.

So Gertrude went over and put an arm around her.
"There, there, Lucy," she comforted her. "It had to happen
sometime, and this was so quick and easy for him. No trouble
at all. And you did see us together just now. We are together
again, just as you and Philip will be when it's your time to
come over."

Mr. Albertson had died seven years ago, which
was why Mrs. Albertson had gone to work, and we felt very
lucky to get her. "Now pull yourself together, for you'll
have to phone Arthur and Betsy. And they'll need you to
lean on, you know."

This last thought apparently snapped Mrs. Albertson out
of her own grief, for I could hear her say, "Arthur! I must
call Arthur... and Betsy." And she turned back to her own
desk.

At this point Gertrude came back to me and said, "Come
Henry, it's time for us to go." The question was rising in my
mind of Arthur and Betsy and how they would take the
news. They both had their own homes, but we always had
been a close family, and I knew it would be hard on them.
Arthur and his wife, Ellen, and their son, Danny, had bought
the family home from me when Gertrude died, and I lived
there with them.

But Gertrude's answer came almost before
my questions had formed. "No, you're to come with me.
You're an old softie where the children and their families
are concerned. Arthur has Ellen and Danny, Betsy has
Clifford and their three girls.

You would only get caught up in their grief and make things
harder if you were to be around them now. Later, yes. But
not now." And she hustled me out of there. When Gertrude
knew she was right, she somehow always could hustle me
right along.

So we came right here. I don't know yet how she got me
here. Some people have a more leisurely introduction to their
new home. I didn't. I was just suddenly here.

It's in a place called Post-Mortemia.

5-28-04

Thursday, April 10

2827 HEAVENLY VIEW DRIVE,
POST-MORTEMIA

This is our home.

It's in a suburb of heaven, which means "after death."

Some people think it is Heaven. Gertrude tells me there's
a resolution in the Chamber of Commerce to put up an arch-
way on the main street coming into town and cover it with
this iridescent, mother-of-pearl-like new plastic. And some
want to rename that street "Boulevard d'Or." Gate of Pearl
and Street of Gold! I guess we'll always have some tradition-
alists wherever there are people.

Gertrude says we won't be here long. Less than a year,
she thinks, then we'll move. Well, this surprises me. Neither
Gertrude nor I have been much for moving. I'm not at all
convinced, but I'll hear her through when she wants to go
into it further. I've always listened to Gertrude. She's a good
thinker, and we have a good partnership together.

Usually we agree before we take any step affecting us or our home. But when we don't (and it would be impossible to always agree), well, long ago, back in that first year we were married, we worked out a way to handle the cases where we disagreed.

The "disputed decisions" we called them, and we'd laugh at such a serious title. If it affected primarily the inside of the home — furnishing the house, or the care and up-bringing of the children, things like that — here Gertrude would make the "disputed decision." This was her particular area in our marriage.

Her judgment would more likely be right than mine in this area, for here she had more experience. And if a mistake were made such as getting the wrong color window drapes, well, she would be the one who would have to live more closely with the mistake. And it would be a whole lot easier on both of us then, if it were her mistake and not mine.

But if it were an outside decision my business, our insurance program, college for the children, things like that here, if we did not agree, the disputed decision would be my responsibility. We'd still talk it all over first. We each know that the other has good ideas. We respect each other's thinking. We listen to each other.

We're both on the same team, and it's the team winning that counts, not who scores. So nearly always, when we work something through together, we do agree on what to do about it. But if we don't agree, and a decision should still be made, it was agreed long ago that the outside decisions were mine to make finally because that is my particular responsibility as the man and husband on our team.

I am more likely to make the better decision regarding business and outside things, because I have more training and experience there. And I would have to live closer with the results; so... if it's a mistake, it's better if it is my mistake.

So, even though Gertrude had somehow found and furnished
this delightful new home without me, I know we won't move from 2827 Heavenly View Drive without my saying so. (Note on margin dated July 28: I've been reading this over. How little did I know last April how right I was. No one can move away from Post-Mortemia until he really wants to.)

The house itself is California style, and so is the climate, but without smog. We have a large bedroom with a bath and separate closets for Gertrude and me, and a guest bedroom with bath, also a cozy den where we can put somebody else up if we have extra company.

The living room has just the right amount of space, and a fireplace, and an off it for a dining area. A nice kitchen. All tastefully furnished. Gertrude always did have good taste. And a perfectly lovely backyard. With flowers roses and pansies, and a lily-of-the-valley bed. (I must ask Gertrude how she manages them here, for I don't think it freezes here in the winter, and lilies-of-the-valley need winters that freeze.)
And several entirely new kinds of flowers I've never seen before. And bushes which make sort of soft fences. Gertrude says we have nice neighbors. But we always did like our own privacy, too.

I've been sleeping a lot, as much as thirteen to fourteen hours a day. When I do awaken, Gertrude has been up for hours, of course. But she seems to sense when I am awakening and comes in to say the familiar, "I love you. Henry," and I respond, "I love you, Gertrude." Or maybe I say it first and she answers. We started that on our honeymoon and kept it up the thirty-nine years we were married, beginning and ending each day that way.

Once during the two years she was over here and I was back there on Earth, I figured it up that we had said "I love you" to each other something over 28,000 times, morning and night, each one of us. When I visited her grave, I would say softly, "I love you, Gertrude," both when I came and when I left.

When I told Gertrude this, I learned that she had been there at the graveside many times when I came and had responded with the old familiar "I love you. Henry" that I so yearned to hear - trying to get through to me just as she and I had tried together to get through to Lucy Albertson. "Were you there every time I came?" I asked, for I remembered how sometimes it had seemed she was so close there that I could almost feel and hear her, but other times not.

"No," she replied, "only sometimes."

"Then when I thought I felt and almost heard you there, it really was you?" "Probably so," she said. "But you were always too focused on the grave. Oh, how I wished then I could really get through to you! More than once I cried, for you were so close and yet so far. I am so glad you've come over now!"

Yes! So am I!

Another thing, which I should have put in several days ago: I don't have to shave anymore. The first morning here I got up with the old familiar stubble on my face and said jokingly to Gertrude, "I thought I wouldn't have to shave anymore when I got to Heaven. Remember our friend Dr. Fritz Kunkel? That was a hope of his, too, that there would be no more shaving — well, no more whiskers growing when he came across."

Instead of laughing, Gertrude got that I-know-something look on her face and said, "Do you really not want to shave up here?"

I answered, "Yes. But how could that be?"

"Oh, that's not hard at all," she said. "Remember your
hat and zipper case?" I nodded. "Well, your mind is very creative up here, and if you don't want to shave, you can simply think of your beard as not growing.

Of course, if you want a moustache or a beard anytime, you can grow a big one here in just a few minutes, when you know how. But if you don't want it — well, just close your eyes now and think of your face all smooth, just as though you had just shaved."

I closed my eyes and started to imagine my face that way. I was just getting started on this imagining when suddenly there was a real inflow of energy, I guess you would call it, into my imagining, and I could see my face very clearly all clean-shaven.

"Are you doing this, Gertrude?" I asked her, my eyes still closed and seeing my clean-shaven face.

"Yes. Henry — to show you how it's done. Now go look in the mirror." I did, and it showed my face just as I, with Gertrude's strong help, had seen it, all shaved smooth.

"This is great!" I called back, for this shaving every morning was a chore. "Will it hold? Will I have to shave tomorrow morning? Or do a mental shave each morning?"

"Just let the picture stay in your mind as it is now," she answered. "If you start thinking it over again, or wondering, or doubting, or letting your mind get to thinking you really must need a shave, it will come back. But just leave it as it is, and the job is done for good.

"Well, I still have to renew that picture in my mind sometimes... these mornings, but I know how it's done. If the old habit-thought "Well, I've gotta get up and shave" comes up I say to my mind, "Oh no, not anymore" and close my eyes and see me as though I had just shaved. And it works. Post- Mortemia may be only a suburb of Heaven, but it's got some heavenly things going for it!

We have sort of a breakfast and lunch together out on the patio
(I sometimes have an afternoon snack, too, if I get
hungry before dinner), then Gertrude clears the dishes and
things, and we stay out there and talk and walk around and
enjoy the place. It is really lovely here and so peaceful. And
no 8:22 commuter train to catch to work each morning. I
certainly can't see any sense in talking about moving.

Later in the afternoon we go inside, and, if I feel tired or sleepy, I get a little nap. Gertrude usually has dinner all planned. The oven cooks mostly automatically. She has an even better stove here than in LaGrange, and that was a good one. After dinner I stack the dishes in the dishwasher, just as I used to do. Then we visit some more — there's so much to get caught up on. Or we listen to music.

Or, we'll read aloud to each other from special books we've always loved — "The Prophet" by Gibran— some of Emily Dickinson's poems, or from the Bible. Or I'll pick up a volume of the encyclopedia and read out things I find interesting, which was something we got into years ago as an interesting way of learning new things. And it seems scandalously early when I'm tired again, and we go to bed.

Gertrude says this is good for me now, until I get rested "all the way through." Then there'll be more to see and do.
"Plenty of time for that later," she says.

I take her word for it.

After all, this is only my tenth day in Post-Mortemia and not quite a week past my funeral. It's a nice home, and I
can use the sleep.

5-30-04

Thursday, April 17

MY WELCOMING RECEPTION

Last night was my reception party. It was held right
here in our own home, 2827 Heavenly View Drive, Post-
Mortemia. Gertrude had told me the day before it would be
last night, that I was rested enough now, and my friends
were anxious to say hello.

When I got up yesterday morning well, I am still getting up
closer to noon than morning — she asked if I wanted to know
who was coming or if I wanted to be surprised. I thought about it and realized I was still a bit shaky inside. So I said it probably would be better if I knew so I could sort of get ready emotionally. No more surprise just now! She nodded.

"Well, of course, your mother and father first. They are dying to see you again — or should we say that the other way around, that you died to see them again?"

"Goodness, Gertrude!" I replied. "I'd think two years in Heaven should at least have improved your sense of humor!" And we laughed together, just as we had for thirty-nine years on Earth. Yes, it is good, very good to be with Gertrude again.

So there were my parents. Then Gertrude's parents —
"You're their favorite son-in-law, you know" (another joke,
as Gertrude was their only daughter). Mr. Goldstein, who
had given me my first job and for whom I worked
until Johnson & Clements was organized.

Uncle Howard and Aunts Bertha, Lots, and Mamie, all
favorites of mine. And my Grandfather and Grandmother
Davidson, on whose Iowa farm I had spent one glorious
summer when I was ten and who had kept up an interest in
me as long as they lived. Well, even afterward, as I found out.

A small group. Only a dozen, plus Gertrude and me. And
they arrived just a few at a time, so I could really get
acquainted with them again. Each one looked just as I had
remembered him or her.

Seemed as though they hadn't changed a bit, except all were
in good health and spirits, were happy, interested, and
vitally alive. Mostly we just visited, getting caught up with
each other. They asked me more questions about Earth
developments and Earth events. And I asked them
about Post-Mortemia.

One question I remember especially. My Aunt Bertha
asked me what I found here that I had most missed on Earth.
'That's easy," I replied. "Gertrude. And just to be able to
reach out and touch her, and tell her I love her, again and
again."

Then I remembered and told them about the rain bow.
One Sunday afternoon I was at Gertrude's grave, clipping
the grass and spraying the rose bushes for aphids. There
was a shower in toward Chicago, which is east of La Grange,
so of course we had a rainbow, which is always beautiful.

And, as I looked at it and thought about Gertrude, I just
wished I could get hold of one end of that rainbow and
straighten it out and use it to write all across the Heavens,
"I love you. Gertrude." They were all silent a bit, and the
couples reached out and held each other's hands, and I heard
someone whisper, "Yes, we know."

Then something happened which put the party back on a
lighter note and got us laughing again. Lou asked, if I
remembered some of the plays he and I had been in together
in college. Such as the time he did the young man who had
a book in "How To Succeed in Business Without Really
Trying" and I had played the part of the pompous president
of the company.

I think Gertrude had a hand in what happened next,
because with a little coaching from Lou I found I
remembered it... and the two of us repeated right
then and there, the "Hail Old Ivy" number. That was fun!

I had gone on into Community Little Theatre, and Lou said he
had been in some productions, too, here in Post-Mortemia.
T hey have a number of Little Theatre groups here for people
who want to do some amateur stage work.

He asked me if I had had any secret ambitions stage wise which had not been fulfilled. I thought a moment and said I had always had a hankering to do the Professor in "My Fair Lady," but never had the chance to audition for it. I remember him saying "Well, we'll have to see what we can do about that," in sort of an offhand manner.

It was wonderful to see them all again, and soon it was
just like old times, except that not all of us had ever been
together before in the old times, only different groups of
us. But that didn't seem to make any difference. Everybody
visited with everybody.

And the thing that impressed me the most was that it was all
so natural. Just like a social home gathering in LaGrange, Illinois,
only most of them, of course, had never been to our home in LaGrange.

About 10:00 Gertrude served refreshments. Then the
party was over, and we went to bed, tired but happy. My,
Heaven is certainly different than I ever thought it would be.

Well, I guess I never had given much thought to what
Heaven would be like.

* * *

An interesting book on life after death
(a story of ascending from a subjective hell) is,
A Wanderer In Spirit Lands.

End excerpt... and Near Death Experience information.