Visits to Heaven. Josie Varga
sustains us, rewards us, and entertains us—one of God’s many gifts . . .”
Another woman on my left emerged from the group and approached me. She was surrounded in a white glow, like a full body halo. Looking at her I felt energized and free, finally free. Free from my fight with food, free from being controlled by others on the outside, free to be me from the inside. Yes, definitely, this was heaven . . . because the woman in the glow was my grandmother Agnes Tate.
With recognition came all the emotion of missing her for the last fifteen years. The last time I saw her alive, cancer had sucked the life from her body. I remember her funeral: seeing her in the casket, and she was breathing. I was thirteen-years-old, and her passing hurt me the most of anyone in the family. As my brow furrowed in confusion at the evidence of life remaining in her embalmed body, I looked up to see her standing beside her casket. Smiling at me, she looked healthy and at peace. Then she told me she was all right and free from the pain caused by the cancer. Her spirit self faded after she delivered her message.
I remember tugging on my mother’s sleeve, then nodding toward her mother’s image across the coffin from where we stood.
“Mom, Mom . . . look she’s breathing . . .”
“Natalie Ann, stop it. They all look like they’re breathing lying there . . .” Apparently what I said upset her even more because she turned away and went back to her seat. I looked for her spirit self, but she too had gone.
Emotions swelled as I reached to embrace my grandmother in recognition and love. No pain for either of us anymore. We were alive; we were well. Suddenly I was so full of the light of inspiration that I wanted to announce my discovery to the world.
But how could I do that from this side?
Before I could state my intention, my grandmother answered me, “You must return; you have work to do; you have children to love and to raise . . .”
I was about to object that John was a good father and could raise Carrie and Ashley—they didn’t need me . . .
“Hush,” my grandmother replied before I finished the thought. She directed my attention to a look into the future if I stayed with her in heaven.
I watched my mother’s grief at my passing.
“She blames herself,” my grandmother, her mother, communicated to me. “It’s not expected when a child predeceases a parent . . . made more painful when the parent blames herself for not doing enough to prevent it.” Stubbornly I didn’t want to return for it was a one way trip . . . I knew if I went back, it was to stay. “Look, look at your daughters without you . . .”
Carrie, headstrong and independent, acted as if my passing didn’t matter to her at all. Growing into a lovely young woman with a large chip on her shoulder, she approached every relationship expecting abandonment. Angry, full of resentment at her mother who didn’t care enough to fight her disease, Carrie wore her rage like armor, protecting herself from any further pain. The ice cold vibe from her personality belied the burning hot pain she covered within. I watched her set herself up to never trust anyone enough to really love them . . . and therefore robbing herself of the experience of being loved.
Ashley, my baby girl, felt most left out because she no longer had a mother. Lonely and alone, since John favored Carrie, Ashley was left to grow up on her own. Her future held no close girl friends to shop with, giggle with, talk about boys with . . . instead she retreated within herself. Her self-spun shell was as impenetrable as her sister’s full suit of armor.
Turning toward my beloved grandmother, I wanted so badly to stay . . . and understood what a selfish decision that would be . . . she assured me that she will always be with me until I can rejoin her here in heaven.
Before my return, I witnessed some parts of my life where I had hurt others and different parts where others had hurt me. There was no judgment, simply acceptance of the events as they had occurred. Indicating that it was time to return, my grandmother embraced me again. I clung to her wanting answers to the eternal questions:
• How does heaven work?
• Does God really hear our thoughts and prayers?
• Does God control our time here on earth?
• Do we survive physical death?
• How can I help people believe that there is a heaven?
• How can I make a difference?
Suddenly I knew, and with the knowing I was swept back into that ice-cold body on the bed. My heart jump-started with a thud, and I was back. I knew I was back because of my pain—every bone shook with chill; the little flesh I still had on my skeleton shrunk close to my bones tightening the ligaments, pinching my face against my skull. It looked like a death mask on a gargoyle. Grimacing, I pushed my front teeth with my index finger and felt them give ever so slightly. Anorexia will make your gums recede because of the dehydration and that, in turn, will loosen your teeth in their sockets. Squeezing my biceps, I felt ropes where muscle should have been. Reaching for my thighs, I felt bone, not flesh. What had I done to myself? And why?
My death was inevitable . . . and necessary. Its occurrence provided the impetus I needed to overcome my shyness, my reluctance, my resistance to my gift.
The next day I awoke with purpose, confidence, and the will to live. I had a mission, I had wonderful news for those who were open to hear it; I had a gift . . . and as they say in the Bible in the parable of the “Talents”:
“To whom much is given, Much is expected.”
Who Did That?
Dr. Bernie Siegel
Connecticut
When I was four-years-old, I was home in bed with one of my frequent ear infections. I took a toy telephone I was playing with, unscrewed the dial and put all of the pieces in my mouth as I had seen carpenters do with nails which they then pulled out to use. The problem was that I aspirated the pieces and went into laryngospasm (a frightening experience in which the vocal cords suddenly freeze blocking the flow of air into the lungs). I can still feel my intercostals muscles and diaphragm contracting forcefully, trying to get some air into my lungs, but nothing worked, and I was unable to make any sounds to attract help. I had no sense of the time but suddenly realized I was not struggling anymore. I was now at the head of the bed watching myself die.
I found it fascinating to be free of my body and a blessing. I never stopped to think about how I could still see while out of my body. I was feeling sorry that my mother, who was in the kitchen, would find me dead, but I thought it over and found that my new state was preferable and intellectually chose death over life.
Then, for no apparent reason, the boy on the bed vomited, and all the pieces came flying out. He began to breathe again, and I was very angry as I returned to my body against my will. I can still remember yelling, “Who did that?” My thought as a four-year-old was that there was a God who had a schedule, and I wasn’t supposed to die now. So an angel apparently did a Heimlich maneuver on me is the way I would explain it today.
I really do believe there is a schedule we create unconsciously because of later life experiences. Twice I have had my car totaled by people driving through red lights, and once I fell off of our roof when the top rung on my wooden ladder snapped off. In none of these incidents did any significant injury occur to my body. Someone told me it was because I had an angel, and he knew his name. I asked what it was, and he asked, “What did you say when the ladder broke?”
“I said,