The first time I understood things died was when I killed something. I took my grandfather on a tour of the yard of our new house and spotted a bee sitting on a yellow dandelion. I stomped on it with my bare foot, then screamed and cried. Grandpa took out the stinger but did not comfort me. "You will be alright, but that bee is going to die because of what you did."  And then he explained what "die" meant. And then I cried harder.

After that, death was everywhere. My other grandfather died. I collected dead bugs and kept them in a box under my bed. Later I buried them in a mass grave. My father took us to a pond to fish.  I didn't like fishing so I explored and found dead fish on the banks. When no one was looking I squeezed them to see gross things ooze out of their carcasses.

At funerals of old relatives I stared at the body and listened to what people said. Most said the person was now happy in heaven. I knew there was another possibility even though it made no sense.  If God was supposed to be "Our Father" why would He condemn His children to eternal damnation? We probably all deserve a "time-out", but Hell? How could a God who gave us someone as nice as Jesus be that mean?

When I heard some people believe souls came back to earth over and over until we get things right I was scared. That sounded like a "Twilight Zone" episode. Was God really that mad at us for making mistakes? It seemed almost as bad as Hell.

And then hearing about the population explosion I wondered if God was running out of souls. Could people be born soulless? This could explain a few things.

After my grandmother died and yet still seemed to be with me, I stopped believing what anyone said about death because nobody knew. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. 

Years ago a friend as obsessed with death as I was, gave me Life After Life, a book by Raymond Moody. She was ecstatic. "You'll love this!" It had 150 interviews with patients who had near-death experiences. I didn’t sleep until I finished it and then I dreamed about it.

The accounts were similar. They passed through tunnels toward bright lights, were welcomed by dead people they had known and loved. There was a life review to increase understanding. Understanding... not unrelenting condemnation. These people came back believing all that ever matters is love and knowledge. They no longer fear dying. 

I've lost count of how many times I've watched A Glimpse of Paradise, a video of a talk given by Renee Pasarow. She had one of the longest near death experiences ever recorded. Researchers verified what she saw as her mother and friend waited for the ambulance and what happened in the Emergency Room.  She was without vital life signs for over twenty five minutes but made a full recovery.

In her life review she saw the good and bad she had done but more profoundly, felt the impact of her actions. When she was kind to someone she felt that person's joy and what that generated in the world...like the "pay it forward" commercials for car insurance, only better. She also felt the reverse. When asked what she thought would happen to the soul of someone evil, like Hitler, Pasarow said she couldn't say, but from her experience could not imagine how he would survive his life review. He'd feel the suffering of each of the millions of people he exterminated and tortured and the sorrow this caused families and friends and the impact of this on the coming generations. How could anyone endure that? I imagine Hitler's soul erupting into billions and billions of pieces. And that made sense. The law of cause and effect. 

In near death stories there is no mention of angels on clouds with harps. Thank God. I guess I mean that literally. Playing a harp forever sounded boring as hell and I mean that literally too. So what do they do for all eternity? Renee Paraslow saw souls working. Yes, working. They were concerned with helping people on earth. They sent inspiration to artists and scientists. Good to know when thoughts grab me and do not let me sleep until they are scribbled down that I'm not crazy. Just possessed. There's a difference.  

In the year after both parents died within weeks of each other, I was present for the births of two grandchildren. Those divergent events were not so different: people gathered, said prayers, waited for the inevitable, and readjusted to adapt to a life that will never be the same. 

When a grandbaby is due I am in anticipation mode. If the mom-to-be calls my phone, I leave a meeting to answer. The baby section of any store screams my name. Conversations with friends include a question on how the expectant mom is doing. The closer the time comes, there are daily inquiries. There is a list of people to call when labor begins and more to call when the baby is born. And when the baby emerges, we laugh through tears. Even the nurses who witness countless births say, “It feels like a miracle every time.”

So this makes me wonder what happens on the other side when we die.   Does word go around that this time her cancer will grow too fast? Or he ignored his heart problem, so will be arriving sooner than expected? Are they happy and excited? Do we ever surprise them and come unannounced? Is that why some are sent back? Do they send dreams to prepare us...and premonitions to help the ones who must let us go? Do the ancestors gather to welcome the newest arrival? Do they think we are adorable?

I know. I have a lot of questions. When younger, my questions annoyed parents, teachers and friends, so I learned to keep quiet. But they have never gone away. It's why I'm intrigued, and perhaps, too fascinated with dying. 

Many near death people come back and say two things:  One, they wanted to stay forever.

And two, a question barely came to mind and the answer was given with love, patience and delight.

It seems they love questions there. Sounds like a place worth dying for...when it's time.