Take a Walk among the Dead

The saying is that nothing is certain but death and taxes.

Benjamin Franklin was the one who gave us this quote when he said, “Our new Constitution is now established, everything seems to promise it will be durable; but, in this world, nothing is certain except death and taxes.”

We don't like to talk about death. This surprises me because death is something we are all going to experience. Yet, we get fearful when the topic comes up. So we push it aside. When my four-year-old son Daniel died, people were far from engaged when I told them about him.

I didn't want to have a reason to visit the cemetery where Daniel is buried. But over time, that changed. Over the decades, I've grown to see the beauty of the flowers, oaks, birds, and even geese, and experience the peace that is present. There's much to observe about cemeteries. Here are some of the things I've observed.

The cemetery teaches us not only about death, but about life. We realize life is short and unpredictable. How do we choose to live this life?

The cemetery is reality. We will die one day. We don't know the day or time. We've lost loved ones over the years. What have they taught us? How would they want to be remembered?

The cemetery has messages to glean on the tombstones. One of my favorite tombstones is where a man named Solomon is buried. The words inscribed on his stone are from 2 Timothy 4:7: I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.

The cemetery is sacred. Many who have died there are people of faith and, as the Bible states, they have eternal life. Their bodies or ashes are buried, but they are alive in Heaven with Jesus. When you focus on that, it's enlightening.

The cemetery emphasizes calm and quiet. The dead don't speak. You can walk and even pray at your own pace and be in silence. No one will interupt you.

The cemetery gives inspiration. My family spent much time on the grassy lawns having picnics and tossing the Frisbee. Being there helped me write my grief and loss memoir, Life at Daniel's Place.

Don't be afraid to walk among the dead. Bring your notebook and pen. Stay a while, observe, breathe deeply, and learn.

Love: Does it End with Death?

I love Daniel.

Daniel’s been gone from Earth for almost 25 years (February 2 is the day he died). Over the years I’ve discovered a multitude of things about grief, about my grieving self— guilt, longing, the lonely hour of 3 AM—and about the way society handles loss.

After a loved one dies, we tend to use the past tense. Instead of I love Daniel, the acceptable thing to say is I loved Daniel. Since Daniel is not living any more, society speaks of him in the past tense. All of the characteristics of him are spoken in past tense, too. Daniel liked to collect stickers; Daniel’s favorite movie was Toy Story, the very first one. He recited jokes from a weathered joke book. He fought bedtime. He had a mischievous smile, especially on the day he went into my desk drawer, took out a self-inking Thank You stamp, and stamped his legs with it.

I know Daniel died. I was there when it happened. I’m not delusional about things, except for when it comes to algebra because that has never made sense to me. I believe that when Daniel took his last earthly breath, his soul arrived in Heaven. He is now in the presence of Jesus, his Savior, whom he learned about in church and through Bible stories from an illustrated book. Daniel still exists; he’s just doesn’t exist here on Earth anymore, except for in our memories.

I loved him while he was my son, for those four short years that I was privileged to be his mama. I still love him, as I love my three adult children who live close by. My love for Daniel has not stopped just because he isn’t with us and I can’t see him open a birthday gift or eat the grilled cheese sandwiches he was fond of enjoying or get his photo taken by the Christmas tree.

I love Daniel. I’ll say it again. I love Daniel. And I invite you to use the present tense when you are talking about the love you hold for your loved one that has passed onto the heavenly eternal.

Even death cannot end the love we have. We don't stop loving a person just because he or she is gone. Love goes on.

Candid Thoughts on Heavenly Reunions

It was not the first time someone told me this and I suspect it won't be the last.

Talk about bittersweet.

I suppose I should explain. I'm talking about when people hear that your child died and immediately----I mean without even pausing to take in a breath----say, "You will see him again in Heaven."

Is that supposed to make it all okay?

Tell me, what exactly do these kind folks mean when they toss out that line?

If I were to watch a mother or father crying over the loss of an infant that only breathed for a few moments or a son or daughter who lived to be forty, I would never say that line.

It's a cheap shot. My opinion. To me, it makes it seem as though there is no reason for tears. Or makes it seem that if I had real faith, I wouldn't be sad.

Don't get all ruffled up now. It's not that I don't believe. You see, I do believe in Heaven. I wish more was written about it in The Bible. On many days I wish for just a glimpse. When I'm at the ocean and the breeze blows and the waves dance against the shore, I feel I'm closer to Heaven. Or when I go for a walk and the scents and sights of spring fill my vision, I think, "Ah, this is heavenly."

I believe when people die they go to Heaven. The criminal on the cross next to Jesus was promised he would be with Jesus in paradise. Love is perfect there because the Creator of love, God the Father, lives in Heaven. There is no sin, no sorrow, no tears and no human frailty in this place of eternity.

Yet sometimes I wonder if those who tell me not to worry, that I'll be with my son again in Heaven, are not using their God-given mind to think, to ponder.

Do you really think I am going to be serving animal crackers and reading bedtime stories to my Daniel in Heaven?

There will be reunions, yes. But I will never be Daniel's mama on earth again. Gone is the dream every mother holds and that is to watch her little baby grow up. That ended for me with Daniel's death at age four. When he died, so did my need to buy Cocoa Puffs for him.

I was thirty-six then. I'm fifty-two now. That's been a lot of time for me to wonder and pray and think, and oh, yes, bite my tongue. Especially when well-meaning folk try to cast off my pain by quipping, "We'll just think, you'll see him again in Heaven."

"If Heaven is going to be just like earth where I have to take out the trash, worry about paying bills, and discipline my kids, I don't want it," a mother said to me.

Some seem to think Heaven is an extension of earth. That Heaven to many will be a repeat, only without mosquitoes and a place where consuming a pound of milk chocolate won't make one fat. Many act like it's going to be where I can see my Daniel again as he was on earth. Folks, that little body that took a beating to cancer is gone. It is no more. The Bible promises we'll get new bodies, and I imagine that they won't age. In fact we probably will all look the same age----young and flawless, like the women in all those Oil of Olay commercials.

So before you tell a mother who is sorrowful over the death of her dreams, who is questioning who she is now without her son or daughter, who dreads Christmas because it means one less stocking to fill, who has seen her family diminish in size, and who has a hard time putting one foot in front of the other on most days---even years later----THINK!

There are so many healthy and nurturing ways in which we can comfort each other. Consider them. Instead of giving a pat, "Well, you'll see your child in Heaven," why not sit down, hold a grieving mother's hand, and listen?

You just might cry when you hear her aching heart. Don't you think Jesus would be weeping if He were seated next to her, too?

She knows she'll see her child again in Heaven. Right now she needs more than that reassurance. She has to learn how to live the rest of her life without him. She has to conquer sleepless nights and inappropriate comments, criticism, and push herself to believe that she will get a day free of tears.

Let her know that she is going through the hardest journey a mother ever goes through.

Let love coupled with understanding be how you bring comfort.

~ Alice is the author of five inspirational novels and the new devotional on grief and loss, Getting Out of Bed in the Morning: Reflections of Comfort in Heartache. Read the reviews and order a copy here.