The Other Side of Heaven Read online

  “Tell you what,” I said to my father. “When mom gets here, we’ll go fishing. How does that sound.”

  “It sounds good.”

  “You okay?”

  “Not feeling real well Mandy. Just off.”

  I understood, and as nightfall hit, something called sundown syndrome came. He lost lucidity that night, was agitated and frightened. It wasn’t a good night at all. He fell asleep crying and I did as well.

  I woke up before the alarm, got dressed and started the coffee. The plan was to have breakfast, wait for my mother, and go fishing.

  But when I went to wake my father … he wasn’t there.

  Immediately, I filled with panic.

  Was he in the bathroom? His bed was unmade and showed signs that he had an accident. His damp clothes were on the floor. He couldn’t have gone far. He was in the house.

  Yet, he wasn’t.

  After screaming around the house and outside, I called for help and began my search for my dad. My heart pounded with every step and every call out to him. Within ten minutes not only were all those on the camp property looking for him, but so were the police.

  At first I was certain we’d find him.

  He was sick, but he never wandered off. Not like that.

  We were so busy looking for him in the wooded area, that the prospect of the lake hadn’t crossed my mind until I saw it.

  No. It was too far for him to wander. However, when I looked at that lake, I got a sickening knot in my stomach. I knew. Somehow I knew. Staring out into the peaceful waters, the morning mist still hovering above it, I knew where my father was.

  My mother was angry and screamed at me when she arrived.

  “How could you lose your father? You were supposed to take care of him? How did you let him walk away?”

  I wanted to die. Everything she yelled at me, I already asked myself. Why didn’t I double check the doors? Why didn’t I check on him first before I made the coffee. Did I forget to give him medication?

  Four days later they recovered his body from the lake.

  My mother didn’t speak to me for weeks. Not a word uttered at the funeral. Even when she finally spoke to me again, she never mentioned it.

  But it was never far from my mind. Was I responsible for my father’s death?

  It was pain and guilt I carried with me and couldn’t let go. It was worsened years later when my mother died, and just before she did, she said, “I forgive you, Amanda.”

  Her saying that reiterated that not only did she blame me, but I was indeed responsible as I feared.

  When I heard about Natalie Baynes and her mission to find five people to meet a love done, I had to reach out. I had to take that chance. Even though it had been decades, the guilt was still there. I hoped and prayed, but never did I think she’d choose me. My suffering was old, I was sixty.

  She told me the risks. That I would be dead for three minutes in order to fulfill my resolution. Whether I stayed dead was up to me. I had to want to return. In my heart and mind there was no doubt I would want to continue life. I had children, grandchildren. I wanted to live the rest of my life knowing the answers to my questions.

  Did my father know? Was he aware that he died? Was he scared? In pain? Did he blame me? Did I in a sense kill my father? I knew, it wouldn’t be long before I got the answers and the peace I so desperately sought all these years.

  16. My name is Barbara …

  The very first indication that my baby brother would be a practical joker came the day he was born. My mother had a complicated delivery and ended up being put under. When she woke, she distinctively, though groggy, said she remembered being told she had a healthy baby girl. Two hours later, they brought a boy into her room.

  It wasn’t a case of switched at birth. It was anesthesia. An event, that set tone and change for my brother Jimmy.

  Everybody loved Jimmy. He was fun, outgoing and always the practical joker. He was my baby brother and even though he was the youngest, he was always the one who felt the need to protect us.

  I recall my mother being so fearful for Jimmy, always worried about him unnecessarily. She used to tell me she was worried something was going to happen to him. I always believed it was the baby of the family thing, not a psychic instinct.

  Jimmy was twenty-three years old when he died. So young and so full of life, his death was quick, tragic, and unexpected.

  I don’t think I knew another person who could light up a room like Jimmy. When he died it devastated us all. It darkened our lives.

  An entire family torn asunder by a tragic mistake.

  And the way he died wasn’t cut and dry. It wasn’t to us, those who loved and knew him. But people who didn’t. They’d hear Jimmy died when the safety on the gun malfunctioned. They would look at me as if I wasn’t telling them something, or they knew something I didn’t, as if my explanation of his death just wasn’t enough.

  Countless dreams, including those so vivid I swore they were real, did not bring me the peace I needed about his death. How did he feel about it? Was he okay? Was he eventually reunited with my mother who adored him to no end.

  When I heard about the woman who had died and been dead for such a long period of time that science couldn’t explain it, I knew her quest was valid. It had to be. I often wondered why God wouldn’t offer the ‘one more chance’ resolution to everyone. Just one more chance to say goodbye, to know. I’d pay a price for that chance. A year, two years off my life.

  There is no price tag for peace and resolution

  There was a risk to being chosen. I could die, but it was a risk I was willing to take. When we contacted the woman, Natalie, we did so as a family. Help our family. It was our family chosen for the resolution, but we were told, we as a family must pick the person. My siblings picked me. It wasn’t because I took Jimmy’s death the hardest, but more so I was level headed. I would not get so lost in the moment, I’d forget the messages and questions. There were a lot.

  I was ready. It was just a matter of waiting for my time to come.

  17. My Name is Scott …

  How does one go about describing the life and death of someone who truly can’t be described by words. I mean, any words I would use just wouldn’t be strong enough. When I talk about my mother I am a vat of mixed emotions. Over joy, love, sadness. We lost her too soon and without any warning. So dealing with that is hard to swallow.

  Usually when someone goes unexpectedly, it’s an accident. She left this world peacefully. At least we believe that. Hopefully, when one of us meet her face to face in the unique opportunity, we will get that answer.

  I feel it though. I feel there was peace around her passing. We really don’t have questions, we have statements. We just want her to know how much she meant to us. I suppose she did, but it doesn’t hurt to reiterate that.

  My mother was kind, generous, and the most loving unselfish person you would want to meet. A beautiful person inside and out. She didn’t look her age and sometimes she didn’t act her age. Of course, she wasn’t old when she passed. Her name was Phyllis and she was only sixty-three.

  She was the world to me, my brother, sister and nephew. We had each other and that was all we had. We didn’t need more. So when she left us, a huge gaping hole remained. Collectively, each of us make up my mother. We all have a part of her. It is the highest compliment I can be paid when someone says I am just like her. We were all close, and there is an unspoken and underlying competition on who was our mother’s favorite. I guess every family has that. I know the answer. It wasn’t any of her children, it was her grandson.

  The way a lamp lights up a room, Jacob lit something inside my mother. He created even more of a spark. She adored him and he returned that sentiment equally. Many times we were like, “Ah, man, she never was like that when we were kids.”

  Then again, we weren’t her grandchildren.

  There was something special about their relationship.

  He took her death hard, as did
we all.

  She was with us one day and the next … gone. That fast. She wasn’t ill, she just passed away suddenly of natural causes.

  My mother always said she would give us a sign if she was fine and made it to heaven. She gave us a sign. Not even twenty-four hours after her death, we had gathered at the house. It was only the four of us and my sister frantically called us to the patio. There we were pelted with an overwhelming aroma of my mother’s favorite flowers. It was unreal.

  Surely it had to be a sign, an undeniable sign from her. Or was it?

  My guess as to why we were chosen for resolution is because we are such a small, tight knit family, torn internally over her sudden death.

  We never got a chance to say a final goodbye, to say we loved her and tell her how much we appreciated her.

  We, as a family were chosen, yet we didn’t know which one of us would actually make the journey to deliver the message of love to our mother. See her, hug her and bring some of that back to share. One of us would go and we wouldn’t know until that second.

  I didn’t know for certain who would get picked, however, my money was on Jacob. And because we all felt that way, we prepared him for the trip of all of our lives.

  18. My Name is Jenny ….

  The is nothing more painful than the pain of losing a child. Nothing. No matter how old or young they are, the pain is indescribable. It is physical as well as emotional. An agony that rips you apart, brandishing an emptiness that never fills. An ache that’s always there and the feeling of deep desperation when you ask yourself, “How can I live though this, how am I going to live through this?”

  It’s a daily process. Step by step. Day by day. Some better than others. Progress can never be taken for granted because anything can set you back. A song, television show, video game .. food. Anything.

  A part of me completely died the day my son Ben left this earth. Even though I felt it slipping as he lay fighting for his life, still within me was hope. Hope for him to return, hope for a chance to make up for any wrong I may have done toward him. One more chance. Please.

  I did my best as a mother raising him. Life sometimes got in the way, things were busy. I had my job, my husband, the younger two children, and Ben was older. He was never forgotten. He was my oldest and will always hold that special place in my heart that no one can ever touch. He was the first born, the first being I ever loved unconditionally and entirely. I grew up with Ben, he was my learning curve and he knew it. At least I hope he did.

  Looking back, thinking of the memories, taking in the pictures, life was good. We were a family. A huge family. The loss of Ben was a tidal wave that smashed through us all. Although sometimes, I forgot there were other’s in pain, other’s grieving. But I think that was normal. I was a mother who lost a child.

  Ben was grown and the other two children were still young. They needed more attention. He was doing well. Of course, like most parents we had our issues with him when he was younger, hut he grew into an upstanding young man. I was proud of him … still am.

  He was working out of town, in another state, had a new girlfriend, life was good. I didn’t expect that call. No parent ever does.

  Ben was hurt. He had fallen at work and it wasn’t good.

  He was rushed into emergency surgery. The head injury was severe. While my husband Marv worked diligently to get us a flight, I walked the street. Back and forth saying nothing. Thinking of my son, praying, not praying. For six hours I walked. Sometimes alone, other times someone would join me. No words were said. I was scared, heartbroken, and numb.

  I didn’t want my child to die, I didn’t want him to suffer either. Was he in pain? Was he afraid? Did he need me and I wasn’t there?

  I family member who lived near the hospital rushed to be at his side so he wasn’t alone. For that I’d forever be grateful.

  At one point in my walking I believed he had died and prepared myself to enter my home and get the call.

  He hadn’t. He made it through surgery, but it was touch and go.

  The entire journey with Ben after the accident was touch and go. I basically moved out to where he was. He became my focus. It was progress, then digression. Infection, then hope.

  Again, my focus was on my son. I believe my family understood. My poor husband. How many times did I forget about him? He never balked or complained. No matter what I wanted to do, or time needed, in the name of Ben, he was agreeable. He was hurting, crushed. We all were.

  Ben had been moved to a rehab hospital and we were ready to bring him home to care for him. Marv was making preparations, looking at loans so we could customize the house to care for Ben. It was then, full of hope that he’d one day recover, that he left us.

  I didn’t know how to handle the news. One day we were planning on bringing him home, the next he was gone. Fate, life can be so cruel and unfair.

  When the call came, I just said ‘thank you’. It took a while to process, to ask questions.

  The healing process is far from over. In fact, I’m still in infancy. Still fragile. Some days I am strong and feel the fight, some days I want to stay in bed.

  I went back to work mainly because I was working for Arthur. He understood, he had been there. That dear, sweet man was amazing. He knew how to act with me when no one else did. He knew when not to say anything, and when he should.

  No one knew how to talk to me, what to say. Truth be known, I didn’t know what I wanted to hear.

  I certainly wasn’t expecting to hear what Natalie said that day. She knew my son had died. Okay. That didn’t shock me. But when she called Arthur into the reception area, and told him who she was, my attention was caught.

  Arthur always swore he got one more moment with his daughter. Something he didn’t mention again after Ben died.

  She told me how Ben pushed his way to her, made his presence known. How he was different, real, like he didn’t belong. He said to tell me he knew I was there. But it wasn’t until she mentioned the song, that I believed her one hundred percent.

  Right before Ben passed, he sang a song. A song he knew since childhood, one that we as a family would always put on during car trips and cleaning. Natalie said he sang that song.

  He was adamant to about talking to her and gave her a message, and because finding me was accidental and fate, she chose me right away.

  I wanted to say yes right there and then, but I couldn’t. Because of the risk involved, I wanted to tell Marv.

  I not only told him about Natalie, I prefaced it with articles and internet videos.

  Then I gave him the news. I was picked to be one of the five.

  He didn’t seem excited, he seemed scared.

  “You don’t need to do this, he said.” “I know you’re hurting. But people get through this. They survive without getting this chance. It’s risky, Jen. You could die. No, wait, in order to see Ben, your heart has to stop. Will it start again? I can’t handle losing you too.”

  But a part of me is already gone. If you say no, if you stay firm, I won’t do this. I won’t.

  He slowly shook his head and grabbed my hand. “How can I deny this? How? I would never be able to live with myself if I stood in your way.”

  I squeezed his hand. “I need this. I need my one more moment. I need to hear his voice. Hold him. See his eyes.”

  Marv nodded. “I understand. You think that will give you peace and resolution.”

  “Yes.”

  He lowered his head.

  “You don’t?” I asked.

  “Sweetheart, how can we just take one more moment?” he asked. “How can one more moment be enough? It won’t be. You’ll get that and you’ll need one more. One more moment can never be enough.”

  He was right. However it was something I was going to do. In a sense, I had his blessing. I felt very strongly about it.

  I needed it. I really did. I truly believed it would ease the pain some and help me move forward. And I also believed after hearing about Ben’s urgency to
speak to Natalie, perhaps my son needed a resolution as much I did.

  PART THREE – THE JOURNEY

  19. AMANDA’s JOURNEY

  I didn’t expect for things to move so quickly. I expected preparation time. There was none. A mere three days from the phone call from Natalie. My insides turned and churned, I was nervous. I couldn’t eat. I told no one about my opportunity. After I got back, I would, until then, it was my secret.

  A woman named Artie showed up at my house the day before ‘my day’, we didn’t have a time that I would go, simply that I would die. How it all went down was left out. Natalie herself didn’t know Everyone’s circumstances were different and the scenario of the ‘meet’ would have something to do with the resolution.

  Artie was a lovely woman who had traveled from her home outside of Chicago to my place in Florida. A church going woman who was part of Natalie’s team. She would be with me when I left, and to ensure nothing medically was wrong, she’d have her hand on the phone waiting to call for help.

  I took comfort in that. Being able to talk to Artie, sharing my fears and anxiety helped a lot. I didn’t sleep that entire night and poor Artie stayed up right along with me.

  “I’m armed and ready to not sleep,” Artie said, holding up a coffee. “I resolved myself to not slumber at all.”

  We stayed up watching Julia Roberts’ movies.

  Artie would be the face I saw when I returned, the first person to hear my story, to listen to me ramble. I believed she was as excited as I was. In that short span of time, Artie became my friend.

  That morning after breakfast we sat on my back porch watching the sun. It was a glorious day. But it was like waiting on a relative’s arrival. I was anxious.

  “I know it will be overwhelming,” Artie said. “I wonder if it will be as real as you and I are, or seem like a dream.”