Love Goes Beyond the Grave

Love goes beyond the grave. I have seen enough to be convinced that love does not end but awaits fulfillment in that mysterious realm beyond the pale of this pleasant place which faith calls heaven.
When we die, we cannot take the things of this world with us. But I believe we can take love relationships with us. Where in this life wealth is usually measured in terms of money and material possessions, where we are going, wealth is measured by love relationships.

I have been blessed by numerous testimonies and have personally experienced communication between the living and the dearly departed. Mostly through dreams, contacts have been made between parents and children, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, members of extended families and friends. Life and death are more connected than we imagine.

I have space for only a single example. I’ll let it be the poignant story of Elizabeth. The year was 1975. She was a Britisher in her seventies, a frail woman of rare intellect, dignity and grace. She resided at the Swedish Retirement Home in Evanston, Illinois, where I served as a part-time social worker, while working on a doctoral program at Northwestern University. Elizabeth’s husband had been a British fighter pilot during World War II. He was shot down in a pitched battle in 1941. She had never remarried, nor as it turned out, had she ever let go of her beloved Jack.

One day when I got to work, I was told to go posthaste to Elizabeth. She had been found wandering in the hallways during the night, agitated and disoriented. Though under mild sedation, she was still awake and alert. I asked her what happened. Elizabeth described a powerful dream, which she reiterated time and again was “not a dream.”

We had the following haunting exchange:
“I was wandering out of doors. It was very dark, and I went from house to house, taping gently on each front door. Nobody answered. I felt all alone. Then I was standing in the middle of the road. I couldn’t see anything. I whispered, ‘Are you there?’ A man answered, ‘Yes, I am here with you.’ On hearing his voice, I awoke, and found myself in the hallway outside my room.”
“Why did you tap so gently and only whisper, Elizabeth?”
“Because I didn’t want just anybody to hear me.”
“But only that one man?” I inquired.
“Yes,” she replied, as if clearly aware of the intent of her search.
“Did you know who that man was?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Was it your husband?”
“Yes, it was Jack. I knew his voice immediately. He had come for me.”

Shortly after that conversation, Elizabeth lapsed into a peaceful coma. She died two days later.

I believe hers was not a dream; it was a genuine communication with her long lost husband. I believe Jack had come back, so they could begin again in a new way, in a new and better place, what had been tragically terminated in their youth. I believe the best is yet to be, beyond our vision, and just as matter is not created or destroyed, neither is love.