The Other Side of Heaven Read online

Craig ended his quest for life and sought solace in a bottle. I believed he did so because he was given a mission he failed to complete.

  “Why didn’t you look for Arthur?” I asked him.

  “Because I don’t believe anything he would tell me would convince me otherwise. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t with a clear conscience promise people resolution when I didn’t know if they were going to actually find it.”

  “What about the three that returned from Martha’s quest.”

  He didn’t bother. His mind was made up. Perhaps he was scared. I would have searched out those three. Although it would have been far easier for Craig to do so back then, since Martha was still alive. She had since passed away.

  Instead, I focused on Arthur. He was the one I needed to speak to. He was the one that returned.

  With Bill’s help, I found Arthur Fletcher. He owned a real estate rental agency in Des Moines, Iowa. I made an appointment to see him under the guise of looking for a house.

  I went alone. After all, I needed to hear what he was going to say.

  The secretary told me on the phone he was only in on Wednesdays, but if I truly wanted to speak to him, she’d see if he would make an exception. I don’t know why I didn’t think he was older, for some reason I had a middle aged man in mind. Even though he took the trip to the other side of heaven over thirty years earlier.

  While waiting on Arthur, I could tell his secretary, Jenny, was a bit more. She barely spoke to me. I think her phone rang a dozen times. Arthur arrived. He was a fit man in his seventies, reminded me of someone that probably acted in his younger days. He invited me into his office and I took a seat.

  “So,” he said, as he sat behind his desk. “I had this dream last night. That my two o’clock special Monday appointment named Natalie, really didn’t want to see a house.”

  “That’s odd,” I replied. “Quite a dream.”

  “My dreams never lie anymore. Not when they’re vivid. Not in decades. You can say it was an inherited gift.”

  I cleared my throat and looked at him. His blue eyes seemed to stare right through me as if he were searching for an answer in my soul.

  “I died,” I told him. “I was dead for eighteen hours. I crossed over. While there and here I have been told something. I was given a mission.”

  “You need to find five people who need to resolve something with a someone who died.”

  I exhaled. “Yes.”

  “You know I lived in Des Moines all my life. Then my daughter died. Because she didn’t die here in the states, I moved overseas. My own investigation into what happened. I lived there for about six years when I met a man who said to me I had the opportunity to go to the other side of heaven and spend one more day with my daughter. Resolve things.”

  “I’m so sorry about your daughter.”

  “Yeah, I am too. But .. I feel differently now.”

  “Arthur,” I folded my hands and leaned on his desk. “I thought, you know, the mission was a good thing. Emotionally draining, but good. Then I met a priest who was given the mission ten years ago. He stopped and didn’t do it because of what happened to your group back in 1983. I’m torn. I am.”

  “Why in the world are you torn?”

  “Because people died.”

  “They died happy.” Arthur said. “It makes me laugh that anyone that hears the story. Even you. You said ‘our group’. It gives this image of five of us sitting in a church basement drinking tainted juice that killed us. I never met the other four. Never. I knew I’d have to die to cross over and I knew there was a chance I wouldn’t come back. But not coming back wasn’t my body, it was my mind. My soul begging to stay with my daughter and I had too much on this side to not come back.”

  “Can you tell me anything.”

  “I can tell you it all,” Arthur said. “My daughter moved to England and met her husband there. She was twenty-three years old. I talked to her two hours before she died. Or rather, before they found her dead. No one knows what caused it. They ruled it natural causes, no real reason, but I was unsettled. I didn’t know the husband, I thought he killed her. Then I had the chance. I took it. If I could ask her what happened, was she happy. You know. See her one more time.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “Same day as the other four. Different times. I guess that’s why the murder charges were brought up. I was watching the television when my time came. One second watching the news and the next a bright flash of white light just engulfed me. Then I heard the voice. I heard the voice first, she called, ‘Daddy’.”

  When he said that I felt a chill.

  “The light subsided, a mist cleared and wouldn’t you know it, we were in her bedroom. The room she had all the way up until she left home. She was sitting on the bed pointing to a Donny Osmond Poster. She was laughing at it, saying she didn’t pick the meeting spot. Oh my God, I held her. I grabbed my daughter and held her in my arms. That alone made me not want to leave her. I didn’t want to go. I think I held her and cried longer than I talked to her. We both cried.”

  “So you felt like you didn’t want to go back.”

  “I felt it, but knew I had to.”

  “Did you resolve anything?” I asked.

  He reached across the desk and laid his hand on mine. “I did. It was a gift. I held her, I said goodbye, I told her I loved her. Those were things I didn’t get to do. She told me when she died she was happy. She loved her life and I had to accept she did die from natural causes, something in side of her gave out and it was her time. When time was up with her, the white light appeared. I knew I had to go back to it.”

  “Is there anything you regret about it?”

  “No. In fact, it just makes the thought of dying a lot easier knowing there is another side. Natalie, why are you looking for answers?”

  I sat back. “I was worried. What if the people I choose don’t come back?”

  “Then they were meant to stay. I can tell you and I can’t speak for anyone else, this made my life easier. I didn’t lay in bed all night obsessing. I didn’t blame myself. I felt at peace. Make your choices, Natalie. You have been given a gift to share. These people need it.”

  I thanked him and spent a few more minutes in his office after that, I felt better about it all. However a part of me still held a speck of uncertainty. Until I walked out of his office.

  It was when I was saying my goodbye that I turned and saw Jenny’s desk. I froze. I literally could not move. I didn’t see it before because I was on the other side of her desk, but from the door way of Arthur’s office, it was clear and in plain sight.

  When I died and crossed over a lot of souls bombarded me, vying for my attention, begging me to pick their loved one. A lot of faces, but one face stood out. It was that of a young man. It was a face that I never forgot and for some reason was etched in my mind. He spoke to me about his mother. I knew right then and there my reason for seeing Arthur wasn’t to hear his story but to cross paths with Jenny. Because right there on her desk was a framed picture of the young man I met on the other side of heaven.

  <><><><>

  His forced sabbatical was a road trip to healing. So, Fr. Craig continued on with us. I believed, even though he didn’t say it, he wanted to see it through.

  When I returned to the RV, I told him about Jenny, he was floored. At least he looked as if he were.

  “You’re sure, you are absolutely sure that was her son?” Craig asked.

  “I have never been more sure of anything.”

  “What was her reaction?”

  “Shock. I think to everything. My seeing him, knowing he passed, my quest. Arthur gave me validity, so I didn’t sound insane.”

  “Wow. Just … wow.” He stood from the small RV kitchen table. “Brad went to get food, wait until he hears.”

  “Yeah.” I noticed him reaching for the cupboard then the bottle inside. “Could you not have a drink?” I asked gently. “Just this once, absorb what I am about to say with sobriety.
”

  He brought his hand back from the bottle, his fingers trembled and he rolled them into a fist. “You’re gonna go through with it?”

  I nodded. “I am.”

  “Aren’t you afraid, aren’t you concerned about them not coming back?” That’s something I wouldn’t want to carry. I didn’t want to carry.

  “I am concerned,” I replied. “But things will be different. I have a plan.”

  13. THE CALLED – THE DEAL

  Poor Brad. Once again, I felt bad for him. Sitting in the small RV, his head going left to right, getting only pieces of a conversation between three people, one of whom he couldn’t see. He maintained his sanity.

  Bill, however thought I lost mine.

  “You’re making demands?” he asked. “We grant you this and you are making demands.’

  “Just in case, you know, heaven makes a mistake,” I said.

  “Heaven doesn’t make mistakes.”

  “Exactly.” I pointed. “So that tells me, all the times before, all the people that didn’t return, you know. You knew they weren’t coming back. That is why I am picking those who have more reason to return than to stay there.”

  Craig added, “I didn’t think of that.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “And I want assurance.”

  “Assurance?” Bill asked. “What do you mean?”

  “More of a comfort thing. I don’t want those I have chosen to be scared. I want no secrets. No hidden agenda, all transparency. You have made sure I have a team. Well, five people chosen, five team members. So none of the chosen will be alone when they go.”

  “The team can’t cross over,” Bill said.

  “And they won’t. They’ll be there. On this side the chosen will be gone three minutes. That’s fine. A team member will be there to call 911 just as a back up.”

  Brad held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Okay, five chosen, five team members. But I only count four. Me, you, Fr. Craig and my aunt.”

  I smiled. “I’m recruiting Arthur.”

  Bill groaned. “Fine. Fine. Never has someone made demands, but fine. So I take it you made up your mind.”

  “Yes,” I nodded. “We met a lot of people and as unfair as it is to those we didn’t meet, I believe I know who should go. They just need to give the okay.”

  Bill waited until we were alone and I told him my choices. With the exception of Jenny, who I asked right off the bat, I phoned the rest. It was a matter of waiting to hear back from them.

  I believed that the whole purpose to visit a loved one and find resolution was so they could have that peace of mind the rest of their lives. What was the point if they weren’t returning with the joy of that resolution?

  I was confident in my choices.

  Then Bill tossed in a damper.

  “You want transparency, I give you that. You made up your mind. If the five you have chosen say yes, there is something you need to know,” he said. “Not all visits will be a trip to a room with teen heartthrob posters. You need to tell these people that each scenario will be different and reflect on what they need to find resolution.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Are you absolutely sure in your choices?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  “Do you want to change your mind? Make changes?”

  “I already asked them. I can’t change unless they say no.”

  “Then you also need to know, that if the five of them go, then two will find complete resolution of those two, one will get a gift, one of the five will be heartbroken, one will debate on returning, and the final will not come back.”

  “One of my five will die?” I asked. “That’s not fair.”

  “I’m just giving you the heads up.”

  “Who? Which one?”

  Bill shook his head. “I can’t tell you. I guess you didn’t pick as well as you thought you did.”

  I wanted to shout, ‘You smug bustard,’ but I refrained, knowing where Bill came from. Hearing that frustrated me. One would not come back and one would be heartbroken? At that instant I felt like Fr. Craig, wanting to just quit. But I couldn’t. I was in too deep. And although Bill said Heaven didn’t make mistakes, I hoped and banked on the fact, that there would always s be a first time. I was so confident in my choices, Bill had to be wrong. He had to be. I was positive.

  BOOK TWO – THE NAMED

  14. THE CALLED – NATALIE

  I had been picked to be one of history’s Named. A title given to the one randomly selected to die, to be a beacon of hope and faith. To add some sort of rekindle of belief by proving heaven was there. My reward was the gift to choose five people who could go to the other side of heaven and spend another moment with a loved one they lost. Either to resolve something, or get one more hug, I love you, something to carry with them.

  In the end it had been three weeks since my death. Brad and I had put a year’s worth of miles on that RV. Countess trips, meetings, phone calls. The media frenzy fizzled out. My team was a motley one. A quiet accounting clerk, a teenage boy, a Christian nurse, an aging real estate agent and a lost Catholic priest. Each of us in some way would find peace within the mission. I felt that.

  Fr. Craig especially. I was drawn to him and his reluctance was driven by fear. Fear that would be released once he saw success instead of failure. Of that I was certain and I was positive it would be a success.

  I had chosen the five with confidence.

  Each person’s loss and need were different from the next. I felt bad for those I didn’t choose. But the mission had to end. I was reaching my end. My decision couldn’t be made on physical and spiritual exhaustion. One can only hear so many stories, so much heartache, before it gets to them.

  So the choices were finalized.

  There comes a time in everyone’s life, where they learn to cut the cord and separate. Like a child, letting go, spreading his or her wings, so should the storyteller. Let the story tell itself, or rather, those who are there, are the main part of it, be the ones to tell their story.

  More than me, this is their story, their journey to the other side of heaven.

  15. My Name is Amanda

  I suppose my grief and pain is no different or more than anyone else who had lost a father. No grief can truly be measured or compared. However, I believe my need for a resolution stood out.

  Losing a parent is devastating. Whether it is quick, slow, in the prime of their life, or in their twilight years. A loss is a loss.

  I wasn’t ready to lose my father.

  Who really is?

  I adored him. We had a special bond. I was the only girl out of three children. The middle child. My father, Gregory, was funny, full of life and the parent that said ‘yes’ when our mother insisted ‘no’.

  The standard, ‘wait until your father gets home’ didn’t really faze us as kids, we knew our mother to be the disciplinary figure. Dad was … dad. He was the best mechanic in town and he’d come home, plop in the chair, wait for the fifteen minute warning on dinner, then shower. Same routine, everyday, and Saturdays he would go fishing. My father loved to fish. He used to take me fishing because my brothers didn’t show any real interest. I did. It was spending time with my father that mattered. I could care less if I caught any fish.

  We were buddies, best buddies. A relationship I believed my mother was jealous of. She hated that we spent so much time together. I honestly tried to do the bonding thing with her, but she was the colder of the parents. A stiff board of separation wedged in the relationship, that pretty much said, she was the mother, I was the child and the buck stopped there.

  Did she love my father. Absolutely. We all did. His sudden death devastated her. Had his illness progressed to the point it took his life, maybe she would have been ready. We all would have been.

  I was in the middle of my divorce when things started happening with my father. Subtle things, he’d forget a lot more, sort of daze off, at times he’d stammer in his speech. He actually believed he h
ad a brain tumor. Alas it was no brain tumor. He was diagnosed with early degenerative dementia. Something we learned shortly after was called Alzheimer’s. Not much was known about it back then. It was a scary disease, with no treatment, no cure. All we knew was my father, at fifty-eight was too young to have it.

  Within a year he had to stop working. Not long after that, increasingly he would get confused or lost. He’d forget to swallow or how to eat and even use the bathroom. It was devastating to watch such a strong man, who never needed anyone, who was to proud to even borrow a dollar, watch him become so dependant. He hated it. He was still well aware of his condition and it was killing him.

  It was also killing my mother. She was working and taking care of him. At sixty she started looking as if she were seventy. I worried about her. But she trudged on. My brothers and their wives helped as much as they could. We all pitched in. It didn’t bother us at all. It was our father.

  We still had years left with him. Or so we believed and who knew, maybe a cure or treatment would be found. All we knew was we weren’t sending him to a home.

  My own children were teenagers, and it was at the point where the entire family had gotten into the caretaker routine.

  Knowing that my father still had many lucid moments, and seeing his moods sink more often than not, I figured a trip or pick me up was in order. I made the suggestion that he, my mother and I go to the lake. We used to go there a lot as kids. He liked that idea.

  “We’ll go fishing,” I told him. “Like we used to.”

  “I like that idea Amanda,” He said.

  “We’ll rent a boat. Get matching life jackets.”

  “I don’t need a lifejacket,” he grumbled.

  “Yeah, dad you do. Humor me.”

  He actually did. Although my father was an expert swimmer, it didn’t stop his illness from coming on suddenly. I didn’t want to chance that he’d forget to move his arms or legs or hold his breath.

  We went up on a Friday morning and I was able to reserve the old family cabin we had rented so many years before. We took walks, had dinner on the deck, and relaxed. His seemed down, really down. I suppose he was missing my mother. She would come the next morning. She had to work.