A World Beyond Our Own

“There’s more to life than what you see,” My mother used to say to me as we drove through town in the dead of night. She delivered newspapers to every home in our tiny village of Sabina, Ohio, and once I turned ten she finally allowed me to stay up late and join her on her escapade. I can’t remember what possessed her to want to stay up after midnight to deliver papers and then get up early in the morning to deliver mail for the postal service, but my mother was always one to keep herself busy. She hated sitting around and doing nothing; it made her feel useless. “There’s a whole ‘nother world out there,” She pointed to the night sky, millions and millions of stars blinking at us, and the moon that provided a dim white light.

“A world ran by aliens?” I assumed she was talking about aliens, for she was a firm believer in extraterrestrial life. She had an uncle who worked at an air force base where there was a conspiracy that they had an alien in captivity. On his deathbed, my mother claimed that he confirmed the rumors and that the alien had a raisin-like skin texture, which is probably the main reason why I dislike raisins. She loved to scare us kids, and would tell us this story every time we would watch Signs. Not only did the film give me nightmares, but it also created a habit of me keeping a glass of water by my bed in case aliens came to abduct me. My mother chuckled at my question.

“I’m not talking about aliens, honey.” I furrowed my eyebrows and asked her what she meant then. “I’m talking about Heaven.”

My siblings and I were brought up in a Christian household, however, we weren’t as religious as my mother would’ve liked—or at least I wasn’t. She attempted to get us to attend church every Sunday morning, but I would either complain the whole time or sleep through the service. A family prayer before bed was also on my mother’s long list of Religious To-Do’s, but I would always sneak off to my room early so I could avoid the conversation with God. We hadn’t been to church in nearly six months, so I had assumed that she was finally done trying to force religion on me; however, it appeared she had one last thing to say.

“What about Heaven?” I asked as I tossed newspapers out the window, trying to aim as close to the driveways as possible. Mother and I would always make a game out it—whoever could get the most papers on the driveways would win. There was never a prize like candy or toys, but bragging rights was a prize within itself.

“Most people are afraid of dying because they see it as an ending; however, it is just the beginning. Heaven is a world beyond this one where good people go to start their new life after death.”

“Do you take on a new form in Heaven, or are you the same person?” I asked a question to appear to be engaged in this conversation about a place I wasn’t even sure was real. I tried to end the topic with an eruption of laughter and applause as my paper landed smack dab in the middle of the driveway, which worked only for a short while. My mother cheered at my success and rubbed her knuckles on the top of my head playfully. I remember thinking that I fortuitously diverted her attention, but alas.

“You’re still the same, you just begin a new life. One without pain, sadness, or worry. You get to spend eternity with the loved ones you once had to say goodbye to.”

I didn’t think much about Death, considering I was only a child when this conversation took place; however, when I did, I imagined that everything just stopped after you took your last breath. You wouldn’t be able to move, or speak, or think. Your body would go limp and cold, and your mind would vanish like it never even was. There would be nothing else to it.

On the other hand, the way my mother spoke of Death made me reconsider what I once imagined. She described it so peacefully and made it seem somewhat inviting. Heaven—a place where you would be with your loved ones—couldn’t be so bad. But why was my mother talking to me about Death and Heaven? Why now on our late night drive when we would usually be arguing over whether or not we should get another dog?

I asked her why she was telling me this and watched as her face filled with sadness from the glow of the passing streetlights. She remained silent, and she was never silent. This was the woman who cracked jokes at the most inappropriate times. This was the woman who would point up at an empty sky and shout “Look!” causing the crowd of people surrounding her to stop their day momentarily to see what she was referring to. This was the woman who I’m pretty sure believed in aliens more than she believed in a higher power. This was the woman who I’ve never seen cry. She was always so strong. She wasn’t strong then.

We didn’t talk much about Death after that, as it then became a subject that was off-limits in our household. No one wanted to speak about Death unless it was behind it’s back; but Death was constantly in the room, ironically breathing down our necks. Death had a hold on my mother. She had been keeping it a secret, but I finally found out on my eleventh birthday. Stage two lung cancer for a year, remission for another year, and then before we knew it, hospice care.

On March 12, 2013, my mother left this life with me to start a new one—one without pain, sadness, or worry. She left to spend eternity with the loved ones she once had to say goodbye to. Maybe she is in Heaven, or maybe she is with the aliens. All I know is that she is in a world beyond our own.