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Event Horizon
Copyright 2014 Christina M. Guerrero
DEDICATION
This is for my Love.
STORY BEHIND THE STORY
Death
ABOUT THE DRAFTS
Draft Number One: The digital equivalent of tears; needed a lot of work.
Draft Number Two: Still needed work
Draft Number Three: Nothing, yet.
The event horizon of his being was at the threshold.
I believed this as I stood in the lobby of the mortuary chapel and looked inside, past the huge doorway.
I stood silently for a moment, catching everything in one glance: the nameplates; the pamphlet with the funeral service details; the casket; assorted items near the casket.
Also: the empty pews, the colored stained glass beyond the pulpit, and the golden light that filtered in and filled the building.
The light was him, and no one can convince me otherwise.
He knew I was there, and he was waiting.
“Sorry,” I said to the gentleman in charge. “I’m very early. And where I parked -- will that be okay?” I swayed a bit and thought I might pass out. This was too much. Way too much.
“Yes,” the man said. “Here is a pamphlet.”
Somehow I remained upright and steady. I looked around while holding back tears. “Are these tissues?” I asked, reaching toward a stack of oddly-shaped squares.
“Yes. And there are some on the pews.”
“Thank you.”
I stopped for a moment near the doorway. I wanted to remember everything.
Then I stepped past the event horizon and into the golden light.
You’re back ... was all I could feel and see and hear and understand.
And then ... his arms. Around me, keeping me close. The way we both wanted, but never experienced.
I rejoiced in his presence as I walked toward the casket. I wished it were open. I wanted one last look, and, seriously, proof of this. But my wishes were not likely to be granted so I just stood there for a while. The items near the casket were of interest, so I took my time looking at them.
When I had my fill, I sat and did my best to be invisible. There might be snarky entities attending later. I did not want to be seen by them. I just wanted to be there, pay proper respects, and go away and live a good, honest, upright life until my own passing. I did not want to be approached by the snarky entities.
With that in mind, I hoped I would hold my tongue. It was not a day to let it loose.
After a while, there were many more attendees. I cried upon seeing familiar faces.
I was approached and asked, “Are you all right?”
There was no way I could have answered that honestly and completely. Again, it was not a day for me to be transparent. I said, “I’m just sad.”
We chatted for a while.
That question again: “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I said again, “I’m just sad.” Now I feel differently. Perhaps I could have shared a little. Perhaps we could have wept together.
No one asked me to move. I was by myself. It felt as if he were there, holding my hand tight, as he had in life, and as his hand was held upon the biggest loss of his own life.
That was one of many things that I imagined. It was difficult not to. Several months later, I would see an empty stretcher, and have a vivid visualization of him on one, being taken away to the mortuary in the dead of night, in secret, so as not to disturb anyone. I also imagined his last days. I wept, wishing I could have been with him to the end, wondering if he would have had a little smile on his face until his last breath, despite his situation.
It was difficult to concentrate on the service. But somehow I listened and remembered. The service was beautiful, with a tiny bit of humor, and some gentle surprises, and wonderful tributes.
We were reminded not only to grieve that he was now gone, but also to remember the joy of his presence among us and his gifts to the world, and to look forward to a reunion upon our own transitions.
The event horizon was the threshold, and that was the entrance to a new world. As I made my way into this infant reality, I realized ... in any lifetime, in any configuration, in any combination of possibilities ... I was exactly where I was supposed to be, and I would have been here eventually, no matter what. He knew that, and was guiding me, and comforting me, and helping me.
I believe he assisted me -- along with heavenly guidance -- when I had to speak to one of those Snarky Entities. Somehow, the right words emerged. I was pleasant and succinct, even when I was told, “He would have been honored that you were here.” I held back my thoughts: If he were alive, and able to move about with perfect awareness, he would not have been honored. He would have been ecstatic, and he would have held onto me and never let me go.
It was difficult to leave, and it was difficult to say the final goodbyes. I cried and cried, and cried some more. I finally understood many things that I had only observed or heard about. I used to wonder why people hugged caskets. Now I know.
Just when I thought I might pass out, yet again, I encountered two human beings who I am positive were my friend, and his guardian angel. It was a wonderful, heavenly experience that I will carry with me forever. He was watching over me, and keeping me safe.
Since then, I have experienced many strange and wonderful things, as I navigate this world beyond the event horizon.
One of those things: a beautiful shadowy image in one of the photos I took. It represents the love we had for one another. I have not yet figured out if it is him and his angel, or the two of us. Either way, it is symbolic, and I have the comfort of knowing that it was there, in the room, when I felt his wonderful presence in the light.
I don’t know for a fact what happens after we shuffle off. But I believe we get to see everything. I believe he finally understands the whole story: of his life, of my life, of our lives together, of what could have been, and what actually happened. I feel smug about a few unusual things that happened after his death: I believe he got angry and caused a few unexpected weather patterns. Other irritating incidents made me hide smirks. He could be righteous when the situation called for it. Some incidents had his energy all over them.
He sees what I struggle with, and he understands. No one can tell me otherwise. I believe he is there for me -- encouraging me, supporting me, comforting me, protecting me -- and when I think that cannot possibly be true, the impossible happens, and I know for a fact he is close by, ready to take care of the unexpected.
He knows the truthful and complete answer to, “Are you all right?”
Only he knows. He knows every bit of it.
And that’s all that matters.
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