ARE YOU THERE MOM? IT’S ME, ALLISON.

Grappling With What Happens After We Die

I was surprisingly level-headed during the six weeks my mom was dying (although I didn’t know that was what was actually happening for the first two). I managed to focus on the here and now and didn’t let panic overtake my body. I kept telling everyone that I had time to fall apart later once she didn’t actively need me. But there was one night when it suddenly clicked for me that since my mom didn’t believe in the afterlife, her impending death was likely terrifying for her. I could somehow handle my mom dying before her time because life is inherently unfair and I had come to accept that. I couldn’t emotionally handle the idea, however, that she assumed this was the end of her soul’s consciousness. And once she passed there would be nothing.

I haven’t been a religious person since I was in high school and realized it was hypocritical to give Judaism a pass from all my issues with organized religion. So began my transition from religious to spiritual. This part of myself, the part that believes there is something more going on than we realize, is something I didn’t share with my mother. I’m pretty sure that the only reason she identified as Agnostic instead of Atheist is solely because she felt uncomfortable with the certainty of declaring god definitely doesn’t exist. (My mom was a big proponent of replying I Don’t Know to life’s big questions.) Yet, I never got the sense she believed in anything other than the tangible world around her.

So that night when all of this occurred to me, I felt consumed with despair. My faith in something more is the only thing that keeps me from being in a constant panic attack about my inevitable death. The idea that she was silently suffering without having any hope that her brilliant mind might continue in some form felt too painful to tolerate. I knew I couldn’t save my mother’s life, or give her back the ability to speak, but I wondered if I could give her some version of peace. So the next day I blundered my way through a one-sided conversation and rambled something along the lines of, “Since we don’t know what happens when we die, we might as well assume it’s something wonderful and we will get to be together again someday.” As I rushed through my spiritual pitch, I realized that I was doing it more for me than for her. I was desperate to change her mind so I wouldn’t have to worry that she was afraid. Not that she gave me any reason to believe she was afraid. Her strength in those last few weeks was herculean. I like to think of it as her last gift to us as a mother. She never made us grapple with her fears on top of everything else we were going through. Even in death, she put us first.

After her passing, people from all areas of my life who had lost a parent reached out to me, including someone I hadn’t talked to since elementary school. He shared that since his mother passed away, he had been receiving signs from her. My initial reaction to the implication that our dead loved one can actually send us messages from the great beyond was one of resistance. For all my openness to spirituality and the supernatural in theory, I have always been skeptical when presented with real-life examples. It’s as though my heart desperately wants to believe, but my brain won’t allow it. I felt a sense of grief that I wasn’t the type of person who could fully lean into a sustained connection with someone who no longer walks around in a corporeal form.

But then I went to the dermatologist. I had an on-and-off rash that was, of course, off during my appointment seemingly making the whole thing pointless. Except for one interaction that suddenly made the $60 copay worth it. In addition to the doctor, there was another woman who came into the room to stare at my rash-free neck. I don’t know if she was a nurse or a physician's assistant, but I noticed she was wearing a beautiful ring with a purple stone. Purple was my mother’s favorite color, so much so that we asked people to wear it to her funeral. I felt compelled to compliment it and the woman beamed before proudly telling me it belonged to her mom.

I felt a jolt of that connection I thought was unattainable for me. Was this a sign from my mom? Was this the universe telling me that not only did she still exist in some way but that she also had the ability to communicate with me through fancy jewelry?

I desperately wanted to believe I’d just received my first sign from my mom. I wanted this to be proof that her soul remains intact even if I didn’t have the ability to understand how or why. But as someone with a master’s in psychology, I know how easy it is for our brains to see what we want to see and to interpret information in a way that will reaffirm what we already think is true. It follows that as soon as I open myself up to seeing signs from my mom, I’m going to see them all over the place. But…is that so bad? Who does it hurt for me to slowly become the type of person that can feel an ongoing connection to a dead person? (Assuming I don’t start charging other people for my newfound abilities.)

I won’t know until I die if this one life and reality is all there is or if there is more to the universe than this version of the world. But I do know I have to make it through the rest of this life without my mom as I always knew her (alive and breathing). If choosing to believe that she can send me signs lessens the gravity of that loss a bit, I will gladly take the relief.

I’m not yet at a place of fully believing that ring was a sign from my mom. (Old skepticism dies hard.) But it certainly helped when my sister called to share a similar story. She had stopped by her local jewelry store to get some items cleaned when she noticed a few women setting up their work in a display. She gravitated toward a beautiful pendant with a small diamond and a black, pear-shaped stone. The designer asked if she’d like to see the pendant with heart shaped stone instead of a pear one. Being more drawn to love than fruit, my sister said yes and watched as the designer picked up one heart, put it down and then picked up another. The one she had landed on, without any input from my sister, was purple. My sister immediately bought the necklace knowing mom wanted her to have it. (My mom really loved jewelry so it makes sense it would be her sign of choice!)

Navigating this loss is undoubtedly going to change me, whether I want it to or not. What I can control–to some extent at least–is in what ways. Becoming more spiritual and open isn’t how my mom ever reacted to the big losses in her life. But maybe I am someone who, instead of leading with a I Don’t Know mentality, leads with a Why The Hell Not one. A take on life I know my mom, who also loved to curse, would approve.

xoxo,

Allison

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