I held something of my mother’s the other day, for the first time in over 20 years. Having had nothing of hers in all that time it was quite a profound moment.
I remember a conversation we had one day, years before she died, about what happened to us when we died. One or the other of us suggested that whoever went first would give the other one a sign if there was life after death. Over the years I have felt that she came back to me in so many different ways, sometimes small ways, sometimes big ways, but I wasn’t prepared for how big she came back this time.
Something returned to me and I’m not sure what it is yet.
I realised that life after death isn’t about whether there is actually some kind of life after you die. Not for the living anyway. It’s about keeping people alive to those left behind that really matters.
My mother lives on through me but she becomes more alive when I hear how she lives on through others who knew her. That’s another thing I haven’t had in over 20 years! At the moment it’s all a bit over-whelming, but in a very nice way.
I now have a closer family than I could have wished for to get used to, and I’m looking forward to every bit of it.