All of a Sudden...Home

 

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

Life changes. That simple two-word statement sums up the real truth of human existence.  And the only truly consistent thing that exists.  Sometimes change approaches slowly, politely; begging your pardon for interrupting the even tenor of the passage of time.  You can see it coming, and are ready for when in finally arrives.  Other times, change roars in from around the corner, or behind a bush, like a stalking tiger.  When it arrives, it does so, at times, with damaging effect.  Or, perhaps a sudden windfall, a providential change in luck.

Several months ago, it came out in conversations that Cheryl's Mom's long-term care plan would be unequal to the task for which it was designed.  She used to have an excellent one.  Then some shyster of a salesman sold her the current junk plan for the sole reason that her monthly payments on that plan would be less.  That created a problem.  After some discussion, and a long, searching, thoughtful consideration of the matter, we offered to buy Mom's house from her.  She would get just about all the equity, which would cover all her long term care costs for a pretty long time.  

Mom's dementia is getting worse.  She can't feed herself (forgets to eat), can't properly bathe herself, and requires help whenever she visits the facilities.  Caring for her has gotten increasingly difficult, and what we hoped would never happen, placing her in managed care, now appears more substantially on the horizon.  So this was something that had to take place.

We had figured that once we were no longer caring for her, we would return to the mainland to be with our grandkids in Virginia, Colorado, and California, all of whom are growing up entirely too fast.  Having no location there we really considered "home," we hadn't been able to settle on a location.  Now, it seems we have determined to put down roots in this stony, volcanic soil.

Insights and What Comes Next

 

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

A number of years ago, I had a singular experience, arising out of a heart catheterization procedure.  During the cath, my heart stopped and I...went away.  The experience is recounted here if you care to take the time.  Since then, I have continued to process the experience, and have realized new insights into what happened.  It still remains what it was, a life-altering experience, one that has re-shaped me and the way I view life.  And death.

I have shared the experience with just a few people, mainly because I am sensitive about other people's opinions of my sanity.  I have also read many books and articles written by others who have shared the same kind of experience.  While there are striking similarities, each one seems to be intensely personal to the one who made the journey.  

Many of those folks recount incredible stories of tremendous detail and vast perspectives, seeing earth and its people from the point of view of floating above the fray, tremendous celestial "cities" lit with divine light.  Also, they recount times when they communicated with personages -- or maybe "entities" would be more accurate.  They also report glimpses of Hell and darkness.  Reading these accounts I realize that I got only the 15 cent tour before I was sent back.  But I also realize that in the context of my life and spiritual needs, I received exactly the experience that I needed.

In the time since, I have lost family, friends, and acquaintances.  I miss them.  But I also recognize the beauty, peace, and joy that is theirs now.  I have also tried to honor my current associations with my care and attention, not putting off some kindness because of my schedule.  One of the profound insights from that experience is how precious this gift of life is, and that it is finite.  Time can only be taken from us, never given back.  I've learned to use time wisely and purposefully, especially with my relationships.

That's kind of old news, I know.  But lately, some other bits of knowledge have sifted through that I believe are important to share.

You are free to accept, reject, question, or doubt.  I've had some science-oriented people tell me that what I experienced was merely the actions of a brain desperately trying to survive.  Whatever.  I was there.

I knew someone who had lost a relative to a particularly merciless and painful form of cancer.   Their last weeks were spent in indescribable agony that even the best drugs would dent but never subdue.  I was asked what I think the afterlife was like for them.