When I was little, our family would take long road trips each summer. Between staying in campsites with our pop-up trailer for six, we’d often stop along the way and stay with relatives and long-time friends of my parents.
There was the house with the deaf cat you did NOT want to sneak up on, the house with cable TV, and the best BBQ chicken, and the house with the most enormous dining table I have still ever seen. But the one that stands out the most in my old memory bank is the house we stayed at with the attached funeral home.
With big eyes, I’d ascend their staircase to try to find the bathroom, always unpleased with the lack of bright lights along the way and appropriately alarmed by every life-sized portrait hanging on the walls.
My dad has always had very open conversations about death. His first experience was with his dad at 18; he didn’t want that for us. So while I was still pretty young, my dad wanted us kids to get used to the idea of death because it is such a huge part of this life. That means I’ve gone to a lot of funerals, and it also means I’ve seen a lot of triangular-shaped egg salad sandwiches made with the whitest of bread.
When I was a kid, open caskets were a thing. I’d often line up and take a final look at the still body inside the fancy box. I have a vivid memory of being at the funeral home in our small town and my dad lifting me to look inside the open casket of one of the older gentlemen from our church. It was Charlie, and there had always been a rumour about how he would remove his false teeth and rinse them in his tea. He certainly wasn’t doing that now. He wasn’t doing anything then except looking awfully still. “He’s not there anymore, remember?” My dad said quietly. I remember Charlie’s hand feeling cold when I reached out my curious little finger to poke it.
My conclusions about death at that point? It was still, and eerie, and quiet, and unfortunately, inevitable.
We watched a cartoon version of The Pilgrim’s Progress a few years back with our kids. In one of the last scenes, the main character’s final challenging journey is going through the terrifying water before him. It’s essentially the portal from this life to the next, and it’s scary for him to pass through.
When he does, though? You should see what’s waiting on the other side of the ‘death’ part he had to pass through. Jesus is there, and they’re in heaven; it’s beautiful to see even in its cartoony glory and even better to imagine for real.
It’s not the first time I’ve burst into tears during a cartoon, and it probably won’t be the last.
My dad has dabbled with death several times over the years. I remember days after my now brother-in-law proposed to my sister, we all found ourselves gathered around my dad as he was having a heart attack and waiting for the ambulance. In more recent years he almost lost all of his blood, which apparently you need as a living person.
The doctor says you should come. The text from my sister read. I dropped my phone to the floor and fell to my knees, letting out a dramatic wail. I’ve been told that your level of grief reflects your level of love. I also learned that such an exhibit is a great way to frighten your family.
We were allowed to stand quietly against a wall while looking through a big window to where my dad was. He was intubated and looked very uncomfortable; machines were performing their symphony. I prayed that suffering would cease, that angel armies would be right next to him, and that his body would be strong enough to fight because my selfish side wasn’t ready to let him go yet.
“Is that your dad in there?” a random lady shuffling by asked me. I nodded. “My husband is dead. My parents, too. Your dad will be better off if he goes, you know.”
As she continued her path down the hallway, I wanted to ask her how long she had been a grief counselor, but I didn’t.
My dad believes, with an unshakable faith, that he will go to heaven to be with Jesus when he dies. He wrote a letter to his grandkids after his wild experience, telling them he was at peace amid the chaos. He had told the Lord if it was his time to go, he was ready.
I have found that the fragility of life likes to slap you in the face every so often – in case you forget about it for a second.
Similarly, my father-in-law had been dabbling with death over the years, too. He had said parting words many times over the decades I had known him, and he had wrestled more with suffering than many would ever hope to. Last month, he passed from this life into eternity with Jesus. My boys wrote down their final goodbyes, and I’m pretty confident it’s the hardest thing I’ve asked them to do yet.
It’s been tough to guide the kids through such a significant loss. I know the grief and the frustration of the finality of death in this life will continue to surface as we learn a new normal with Grandpa not on earth with us. I would imagine, though, that if we could peek into where he is and what living is like for him now, we’d never think about asking him to come back. We’d be happy for him that he got there first, and we’d tell him, “We’ll see you soon!”
Spending time thinking, reading, talking, and wondering about heaven is important. I’ve read these books with my kids in the past year: Heaven is For Real and Heaven for Kids, and I also love turning to 1 Corinthians 15:
Our earthly bodies will be planted in the ground when we die, but they will be raised to live forever. Our bodies are buried in brokenness, but they will be raised in strength. They are buried as natural human bodies, but they will be raised as spiritual bodies…Then, when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this scripture will be fulfilled: Death is swallowed up in VICTORY.
Does it take faith to believe this is true? Of course, it does, but you have nothing to lose by believing and yet EVERYTHING to gain.
“For this is how God loved the world: He gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life.” – John 3:16
I’m choosing to believe what my Bible says, that this life is not the end of the story, which is what makes death a much easier part of this life to accept.
An ongoing conversation in our house around this is, “Do you remember when I told you all about Disney World and how amazing it would be before you went there? You had faith that what I told you was true, right?”
That’s the part where little boys nod yes. Little boys who have now seen, smelled, walked around and experienced Disney World for themselves. Little boys who know without a shadow of a doubt how real and wonderful a place it is.
They trusted my words; I pray they will trust Jesus’ words, too.
Rebecca Bergman 
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