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Saturday, January 17, 2015

Not Good-bye but Bon Voyage

There seem to have been more than the normal number of deaths in my little circle lately - friends and daughters and fathers. Whenever I know people are grieving, I can't help but think of my friend, June.

June had asked me to give her eulogy when she died and she had very specific instructions for what I was to tell her loved ones.

Seven years previous, she'd gone into cardiac arrest in the hospital and almost died. I say, almost, but actually she did die...for a while. During that time, she had an after-death experience and when she came back, she was exalted by it. During the remainder of the years she lived, she was joyful, as if she had a special secret knowledge that made life a different thing altogether than it had been before.

She told me all about it right after it happened, of course. I've read a lot about ADE's since and her experience was typical. She heard all the bells and buzzers going off around her, heard the intercom announce that help was needed in her room stat, heard the sound of feet pounding down the hall.

Meanwhile, her being went up to the ceiling and hovered, rather interested in the furious actions being performed on her body although she didn't feel personally involved. Eventually, she went out of the room and into the tunnel that is usually a part of after-death the end of the tunnel was the Light. And she made it there.

The most exceptional quality of the light, one she repeated over and over, was its welcoming warmth and the complete serenity she felt being bathed in it.

"Vic," she said, "no human on earth has ever felt absolute peace of mind. Even if your life is going well, you're anxious about something, be it money, your kids, your health but this was total...imagine the most stress-free moment you've ever had and multiply it by a million. That's what it is like in the light."

Suddenly though, she was back in her body. Her doctor was pounding on her chest.

"Come back, June, come back," he was urging.

"Just let me go," she pleaded, "let me go back."

He told her that all her children were on their way to the hospital and she surely didn't want to go off without seeing them.

That was another element that was so distinctive about the after-death experience, she told me.

"Time is completely different there, not at all like it is here."

So she told the doctor, "it doesn't matter, I'll see them again in just a little while anyway."

He reminded her that her daughter was pregnant with her first grandchild and she'd told him how much she was looking forward to being a Grandma.

She was able to return, briefly, and in the light her soul touched the baby's soul. She knew him, knew he was a boy and knew that if she left now, they would would miss each other as one departed and one arrived.

So she came back and she fought to live.

She told me what I was to say to her children and her friends at her funeral.

"Tell them please not to be unhappy and not to worry. Tell them not to say good-bye but wish me Bon Voyage for I'll be going on a trip to a place I've always wanted to go and soon enough, we'll meet again when they make that same exciting journey."

She almost glowed when she told the story of what it was like to die.

I tried to think of that when my little mother passed, that she was on a ship eagerly cruising to a fascinating destination. She was no longer old, her mind no longer broken by dementia. I tried to say Bon Voyage, rather than good-bye.

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