Angels from the Hereafter

I don't know what happens to you after you die. When I die, I'll try to do a blog post all about the experience to fill you in. Until then I can only guess.

I'm inclined to believe in some kind of hereafter. Whether it's heaven or hell or something in between I couldn't say. Ditto for whether it's your soul or something else that lives on. I'll try to answer these questions in that first post-death blog post.

I'm pretty sure there's some kind of afterlife. It's more than just a hunch. I have circumstantial evidence I'm calling proof.

This week I finally wrote an ending to Glass Houses. To finish the last sections I had to re-read my journal about the last year Aunt Toodles was alive. Tears slowed the reading down quite a lot. The writing, too.

Years before she died when we talked about things that happened back in the day, she would often say "be sure to put that in your book." I promised I would. In the last weeks of her life she brought the book up again. I forgot about that, too, along with my promise to her that I would write it.

But Toodles never forgot. I'm not quite sure how she managed from the other side of the grave, but she did. If you knew her you wouldn't be at all surprised.

Based on what happened, after you die it looks like you have some kind of control over people with birthdays near your own. I know it sounds weird but it's true. Hey, people believe in a lot stranger stuff and nobody says a word.

Terri's birthday is just two days before Toodles' More than anyone else, she's the one who planted the seed in my head that I could write a book. Then she lovingly nurtured the tender new growth until it finally bloomed. You have no idea how many drafts she's read...

Larry's birthday is the day before Toodles'. When I got stuck and couldn't figure out where I was going and what the story was about, he asked fewer than five simple questions that set me on the right course. I guess you could say he provided a lot of fertilizer to keep the plant growing.

Without Terri, Larry and of course, Toodles, there would be no book. I hadn't seen Terri or Larry in more than 30 years. We didn't run in the same circles even then. They both reappeared in my life after Toodles died.

Coincidence? I'm inclined to believe there's no such thing as coincidence. Everything happens for a reason. Maybe one day we'll figure out the reason I am...

The Crotchety Old Man