And even though I close my eyes, I see La Vie en Rose.
My parents died last summer. And in that, they gave me an amazing gift: the gift of the experience of eternal life.
They died five days apart, lived five hundred miles apart, and thirty-five years had passed since they had lived together in marriage. Still, it was the first year that I know of, they both sent flowers to each other for Mother’s and Father’s Days. They were both anxious and fearful of their dwindling vitality, and neither could summon a power greater than their own to comfort them in their hour of need.
My brother called me Friday morning to tell me that our dad had died the night before. We had been so concerned about our mother’s condition that we were devastated for it. I was going to pay more attention to her once Mom died. Funny how you discover these strange thoughts. But the next morning, my sister called to report that Mom was no longer eating or drinking. As I ran alongside him, I began to acquire a kind of altered state and as I prayed for help, I could feel my dad supporting me. He was always a “take over” type of person and I was very relieved to feel him coming in strong. I had been aware of Mom’s condition, mainly through us children, and it had been a real comfort to me in the last few months.
I got to his room around ten at night, my brother was so distraught about everything and relieved to have me there. We had become very close in the last few years, Mom and I, and we all knew that I was a comfort to her. What I knew was that she was healed simply by my presence. You see, in these last twelve years I have devoted myself entirely to the mental training of A Course in Miracles. I think what is reasonable is this: all I see is a construction of my own mind, and I once thought that this world and the things in it could bring me happiness. Now I know that my only happiness is the awareness of the presence of Love and I am in a process of transformation to expand and enliven this awareness as Jesus teaches: with love and forgiveness.
Yes, my mother consoled herself in my presence. She realized that she could see beyond her despair over her ill health and was a haven for her, this peace that I have found.
For the next five days I stayed with her in the hospital room, and together with my brother, sister, and niece, we accepted visitors all day, watched tennis on TV, and tried to keep it light. But at night I had it to myself while we let ourselves be carried away by the night hours. This place that we occupy in those last days was strangely beautiful. I put music on the portable player: Duke Ellington, Eddie Howard, or sometimes classical guitar. We had always brought a little player on our trips to Italy together. Sometimes he sang to her. She liked it and often asked for it.
I slept there, bringing the bed closer to hers so I could hold her hand all night. I would put a blanket over the light to get the dim atmosphere I wanted and still allow the nurses to see, because they wouldn’t turn on the overhead lights, too bright and harsh. I’d sleep for an hour or so and then check my mom for signs of needing pain relievers. Then he would play the music again, the music of his youth and our own happy memories, and it seemed like a magic spell had been cast, something like La Vie en Rose;
“And when you speak, the angels sing from above,
Everyday words seem to turn into love songs. “
Sometimes he would take her little arms and dance with her, and talk to her, mostly thanking her for every little thing she could think of. Or remember our happy times. Once when I was near the end of responding physically, I thanked him for knowing that I had been loved, truly loved in my life. She put her stiff little arm on my shoulder and looked at me with tears in her eyes. She must have remembered telling me, months before, the same thing – that I should always carry with me that I had been truly loved by another soul in this life – by my mother.
But even though there were tears, there was no sadness or guilt in our time together back then. We were simply in love. We were high above it all, knowing what words could never say. It was eternal life and it was now. I knew that she heard and saw everything despite appearances. Actually, it was more of the feeling of a wedding. When a wave of emotion washed over me, I simply wore it “like a loose garment” and soon it passed and I felt clean and shiny again. He didn’t need anything to be different … it was all tenderness, acceptance and calm. I have never been more aware of the presence of Jesus. When I spoke to him, I could imagine seeing his arm next to mine as he tilted my head to hear his soft response.
I thought of John 11:25, 26:
“Jesus said to her: I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even though he is dead, will live; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”
At that moment I knew. It’s not just a reasonable concept anymore, I was feeling the experience! If you believe in Christ, which connects us to each other and to our Father God, and you live your life as an expression of that belief, then you are experiencing eternal life now. If he doesn’t, he’s just another one of the undead, trying to find fulfillment in ways that only cut the wound deeper.
When my mother stopped breathing I knew she was still there. Half an hour later, when I could no longer recognize that body as what I had called Mother, I realized what I had always been seeing, not her body, but her life force. And neither with my eyes, rather with my heart and my mind. And I could feel my parents there with me, loving me more and stronger than ever.
During the next few days I spoke to many people, some of whom said strange things. They all seemed to want to share a real moment with me; for Shirley’s death, or for her life, or for the love or loss they felt over it all. I soon learned that I was “on assignment” and my job was to stay open, in front of everyone who came before me, and show them how beautiful they really are, to reflect that. Let them feel what it is like to know that you are truly loved, loving, and lovable.
Well, we had a great party for both parents. I read a little of the Course. Both my brother and I sang songs for our mother at the funeral. Yes, I sang La Vie en Rose. I felt the uncertainty of the people there, they seemed happy and they were a little taken aback. Some asked me outright, “What have you got? You seem to possess a calm certainty despite the sad circumstances.” And I would say to them: “I have discovered who I am and what my true purpose is, and Jesus and A Course in Miracles helped me to do so.”
Something happens when your parents transition out of this world, something you just can’t prepare for. So now, when I am tempted to feel guilty for a love that was not expressed, I just remember that it was not like that at all. Eternal life is a place that only the mind can go without guilt, and spending those five days there, in that place, with my mother and father, taught me something, that time and space. [death and bodies] – can never separate us. Only thoughts can, and I can choose which thoughts to value. Simple as that.
Words can never say how grateful I am or how much I love you so much for it. But I’m sure they somehow get it.