You'd think that dying, going to Heaven, and coming back would make facing illness and death easier.
You'd be right.
The symptoms are not alleviated by any means; pain's really hard, and a cough will start every so often that results in, at best, dry heaves. At worst, well, don't ask.
But the thing is, I know now that there is a beyond, and it's better than I could have imagined to imagine. The memory of my death and return on March 14 is still blindingly clear and bright. Dreams fade; this has not, and the details still stand out with a definition unembellished by imagination, and undimmed by time and space.
And so the worst of cancer is really, really bad, but this will not be the end of me. We'll meet again.
When it's time to go, I'll gladly leave, but until then, I'll gladly stay.
But, you know, going and staying have lost some of their meaning. I'm there now, as well as being here. Nothing of Heaven is lost to me, and will it will never be gone.
A question...would any of you like to actually read the narrative of the experience? I wrote it fresh, after telling Barb about it, and she checked that my recounting and writing matched. Parts of it may seem almost mundane (like kite-flying, and the presence of a swimming pool), and some things may surprise you as much as they did me. It's just a straight telling of an extraordinary experience; I didn't want to sully it through interpretation.
So, please let me know in your comments, if this is something you'd like to see.