By Elisa Novick
When I wrote about “last timers” two weeks ago, most of the responses had to do not directly with the subject matter, but with the experiences people have had with those who’ve died. So I thought I’d chime in with some of my own thoughts and stories.
In another previous article, I mentioned that as a child, I found myself turning away to hide an embarrassed grin whenever I was told that someone had died. I wasn’t a monster; I must have known something.
I certainly have not been untouched by grief and expect that I will be even more deeply touched as friends pass on before I do, (all of my close family are already gone) yet having worked with people before, during and after they’ve made that passage, I have a slightly different perspective. Rather than go into any sort of discourse on what happens when we die or where we go, I will just tell you some true tales from my experiences. (I won’t use full names though for privacy.)
Z. was a large, intelligent woman with a great sense of humor and a New Yorker’s blunt tell-it-like-it-is way of speaking, who had come from a loud Jewish family. She was a student of the Mystical Traveler, so she did not need assistance from me when she died. When I looked in on her she was doing well with all the Light support she needed. A short while afterwards though, I was sitting in meditation when I heard her voice say, “Yo! Take this down.” So I took out my computer and transcribed a letter to her husband. It contained reassurance to him that she was grateful for their life together and wanted him to be happy and remarry. Toward the end of the letter she said, “and don’t worry about the fucking door.” I had no idea what that meant but I dutifully took it down.