My beloved grandmother passed early this morning.
It’s difficult for me to express my beliefs about what happens to us after death. I suppose it could be said that I’m not a “good” atheist; I don’t believe there’s nothing after we die. I can’t say with any kind of certainty what I do think there is, but I do think there’s something.
I mean, think about it; science is telling us that we’re about 99.9% identical – that when you get right down to it, the components that make up our physical beings are so similar as to make us practically indistinguishable from one another.
That this is true doesn’t diminish one bit the fact that, in all of our history (long or short, depending on your perspective), never have there been two people who are exactly the same. Each of us carries our own unique vibration, an energy that it gloriously and wholly our own.
That energy has to go somewhere, and I believe that we who are still housing our energy in bodies can continue to connect with those who have shed their skins. It gives me comfort to believe that her energy – her radiant, generous, joyous energy – persists, and that I might still feel it if I’m still and quiet and paying attention.
I love you, Gramma; present tense.
*The title of this post refers to this poem by Henry Van Dike. It expresses quite nicely what I’m trying to say here.