Beyond

At the end of my suffering, there was a door.  I saw it long before I could touch it. I saw it and knew that once I stepped through it, that would be it.  I didn't want to go.  Not even after you all told me it was ok.  I never wanted to go.

There was a moment when I could still hear you, singing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" to Teddy.  I felt you next to me, all the love in your heart for our son and for me.  I knew we were alone, just the three of us, and that the love in that room was flowing seamlessly from me to you to our son. And the door was in reach.  I lifted up my heart, and with an exhale, stepped through.

I immediately wanted to come back. I wanted to be with you and with him so much. I wanted to.  It holds me to you. 

You were sort of right, by the way, when you imagined this side of the door as a giant room filled with tables where people you love who die are able to sit together and talk. I've had fantastic conversations with Einstein and Richard Bach and Robin Williams and Chuck Mangione's band mates who brought us so much joy. I pulled up a chair for your friend Ellen, and have held the tiny hand of Simon as Leslie saw me do in her dream.  

I want you to know that there is a path on this side of the door too. That as far away as I walk, I can still see the door and will know when you come through it a long time from now.

I know you are sad and lonely. I know.  I know how hard this is for you. You are doing a great job even when you feel frustrated.  Forgive yourself when you think you fall short. You are always as I imagined you before we were us. 

I am always with you.  Teddy knows that. You don't want to believe it so much, but you know because you look for me. I see you when you wave at Orion, and when you look for mockingbirds. I see you sign ILY when you see my sign.

Let your heart love your life with all the love I still have for you.