We're still talking about Nicholai around here, especially the youngest and me. We miss our "bubba" and can't help wondering about the nature of life after death – specifically, where is Nicholai now, and what is he doing?
For my part, I tend to be a Doubting Thomas. (For those of you who didn't grow up Catholic, Thomas was the apostle who didn't believe Jesus had risen by hearing the tale, he needed to put his own hands in the wounds. He was a scientific, see-for-yourself, proof kind of guy.) I don't imagine how there's a heaven that a)can fit all the souls who come and go over millennia, b)isn't incredibly boring – an eternity of harp strumming?, and c)has never been able to be found or shown or measured or … well, you can see how I am. I told Tim I doubted Nicholai existed as his dog-self but in see-through ghost form; I figure he's more particles of light or energy, maybe the impulse for a new life to be formed.
Tim's response was there's a lot more to outer space than the sky we can see from earth; he figures space goes on for infinity like all the souls, so heaven is out there with plenty of room for everyone. He is sure – without any proof – Nicholai is with Molly and Kali and his other departed dog friends and they are all waiting for us. His red-eyed certainty made me teary, I responded at least if Nicholai is hanging out in verdant celestial fields, he is no longer bothered by annoying tumors or difficult breath, he's vigorous and having a great time (I hope).
An acquaintance from outrigger canoe paddling days is currently struggling with pancreatic cancer. Thanks to her for sharing this poem by Mary Oliver, it touches just the right spot in my questioning, healing heart.
About Angels and About Trees by Mary Oliver
Where do angels
fly in the firmament,
and how many can dance
on the head of a pin?
Well, I don't' care
about that pin dance.
what I know is that
they rest, sometimes,
in the tops of the trees
and you can see them,
or almost see them
or, anyway, think: what a
wonderful idea.
I have lost as you and
others have possibly lost a
beloved one,
and wonder, where are they now?
The trees, anyway, are
miraculous, full of
angels (ideas); even
empty they are a
good place to look, to put
the heart at rest – all those
leaves breathing the air, so
peaceful and diligent, and certainly
ready to be
the resting place of
strange, winged creatures
that we, in this world, have loved.
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