What's next

I've found myself thinking existential thoughts the past couple days. That's bound to happen when someone close to you passes away. You ponder what's beyond. Before my grandmother died a couple years ago, I remember speaking with my mother about how frightening it must have been for her mother. At 100 years of age, Nana had no belief whatsoever in a heaven, hell, or anything at all beyond terra firma. For her, death was not just turning off a light switch, but the end of the light bulb. Done. Nobody there from beyond to greet you, no presence greater than yourself, just nothingness. The end. That felt bleak, depressing and downright scary to me.

My mother-in-law Norma Klein passed away early Friday morning. A devout Catholic, she believed in heaven and a presence beyond herself. Although Norma raged against the dying of the light, deep down it had to have been so very comforting to maintain a profound faith in a higher plane and a new path she could eventually ascend to. I've been thinking about her since she passed, and praying that in her next life, she is blessed with more joy and tranquility. I absolutely believe we get multiple go-rounds. I choose to believe that children whose lives are cut short get another chance right away, in a new place, with a fresh hope. I've known old souls, people who appear to have learned big lessons and can apply them better now, because they get something ineffable from long ago trial and error that the rest of us don't, or just haven't yet. Regardless of their chronological age or their circumstances, they're wiser. I've heard myself described as a young soul. I think that's probably true. I'll get it right some day, but for now I'm probably still in the tadpole stage, and so for me the cosmic maturing process might have a ways to go.

Jews aren't supposed to believe in the constructs of heaven and hell. No angels on puffy clouds, flames, pitchforks or purgatory (so I really can't explain Detroit, Philadelphia, or Newark). At the same time, we don't fully buy the one and done notion, either. I think, hope and pray that my grandmother was simply wrong, and that she was surprised to be greeted lovingly by souls she had previously known, starting with my grandfather. For me, the ideal that resonates best was summed up by poet Thomas Bailey Aldrich:

"What is lovely never dies, but passes into other loveliness".

It's said from time to time in some Jewish memorial services, and is an appropriate illustration of Jewish sentiment addressing what happens when the EKG goes flat. For me, it's a comforting way to face the inevitable.

I choose to believe that my grandparents, my mother in law, friends whom I've lost, and other lovely souls I've known haven't been shut off like locked spigots, gone forever. They've passed into other loveliness. They'll return in some fashion (or have already returned) in newer, fresher incarnations, perhaps doing it better this time, learning more, and having the opportunity to play a new hand, make new choices, and create new loveliness.

It's what I wish for Norma, and what I hope happens to all of us.