life afther death

As you might have seen in the previous pages: I am Corrie Wolters and I live in the Netherlands.

My free lance job: I preside at funeral services in which almost always children are involved.

'Her grandson came very close to her: ‘Are you sad, grandma? Do you miss grandpa?’ ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘How about you? Do you miss him?’ ‘Yes, I do,’ he answered, ‘we can’t play football anymore, or riding bikes, or go to the swimming pool. And he doesn’t tell stories anymore.’ ‘What about ús telling grandpa-stories? Who is first, you or me?’

And they had a wonderful time together, they laughed and tears came as well. But that was okay. '

If children just can be as they are in this very moment we help not only them but ourselves as well. And they help us without knowing. Children immediately feel our fear, our anxiety, our sadness.

Sometimes parents decide not to take the children to the funeral service. ‘They don’t understand,’ parents say. No, they don’t, rationally. But how about us? Do we understand what happens when someone dies? We don’t as well. We might know something about a funeral or cremation, but what really happens? We don’t know as well. But children feel deep down in their hearts what is going on, they feel how we feel, deep down in their soul. They might not have the words to tell, that’s all.

I am always moved when I see a parent holding the child when they look at the person who died. Sometimes the child draws a picture for the deceased an carefully lays it into the coffin.

Another time the parent just tells a little story. Or he or she told the child about death – the body can’t breath anymore, the eyes never ever will be open again, the body is cold.

Of course the child is there during the funeral ceremony. It can light a candle, or sing a song, or tell a little story. If a parent is afraid for the child to ran around or make a lot of noise, just ask a friend to take care of it for some time. Nothing wrong with that.

Children's book: In Memory of.................

Out of many experiences with children I wrote a booklet just to invite children to tell about the person who died, how they feel, if they did something during the funeral ceremony, etc. They are also invited to paste a photo, to colour a picture and to draw pictures themselves. We only have to give them a chance to express their feelings.

Children can do it by themselves, but they also might like to get some help from a parent, a friend, a teacher, or someone else they trust.
I also tell something about dying, about being buried and cremated as well.

The title is: In memory of..............

I always have it with me when I am visiting people to prepare the funeral ceremony. Children really like it. Preparations to publish it in America have been made, but the financial crisis did the editor decide not to finish it. Anyway - I have copies in English, so if you want some, just let me know.

Any questions or stories to share? Please contact me: cwolters@xs4all.nl

Life after death?

The funeral services at which I preside are mostly for unchurched people, who, although they are not involved in any institutional church, very often are deeply religious and spiritual. When I see them some time after the funeral or cremation they tell how they feel, how they are, how they cope with what happened. And very often they tell about some kind of a contact with the person that passed away.

What about life after death? This subject is very interesting to a lot of people. Maybe I have to say: it is very interesting again – because studying this subject shows a lot of information, stories and teachings throughout the centuries. So finally there is nothing new about it. We just have, more than ever, the opportunity to think about it, to read stories, etc. But telling about one’s own experiences is still very vulnerable, because they can’t be proved like we prove the way our computer works etc. But to the person they really are true, because they are his or her very own experience.
Besides: a lot of books have been written during the last decades.

Someone once said: ‘The continuity between life and death is greater than the split,’ which means that life goes on, in what way we don’t know – but dead is not just dead. We can’t prove it rationally, and at the same time it is not a matter of ‘being right or wrong.’ It is the personal experience that counts, that changes the way people think and feel, and that goes beyond rationality.

Till now I have been told stories about a life beyond death a lot of time. The situation might be different – sometimes someone being terminal ill tells what he or she experienced, another time it is a relative who got impressed by something that convinced him or her about an existence after death.
The people I meet are not or no longer connected with any church. The reasons might be different, but the conformity is the non-believe in church teachings which they think are too concrete, too literally, too much like a system. They miss the spiritual dimension of these teachings.
I tried to contact church leaders about these stories, but did not succeed. May be it isn’t important; the stories are that tell about eternity are.

An old man lost his wife. ‘She’s gone through the gate,’ he said. ‘It won’t be too long for me to go the same way.’ He was convinced about life after death. But he did not like any questions about God. ‘Who is God? Or what is God? Or what is s/he like? God is the Great Unknown, and that’s it.’
It is the very same as an old lady – she was about a hundred years old, said: ‘God is God – not just like a man or a woman, not even like a superman or superwoman, so be very careful in talking about him/her.’
At the same time it is beyond any institutional religion.

Stories about life after death

1. Hedwig

A funeral director asked me to go and visit Hedwig. She was very ill, she might only live for some weeks, the doctor said. She did not like to have her children take care of everything, especially her funeral service. Of course her children could tell about her, what kind of mother she was etc. But she wanted to tell the story of her life personally. She was very direct, straight to the point, joking about almost everything. But that changed as the conversation went on.
‘If, I say, íf there is a God, he has been sleeping for a very long time, and I definitely don’t like him. Just have a look around - it is a mess everywhere,’ she answered my question about religion that might be in some kind important to her. ‘But I do believe in a kind of life after death.’
She told about her husband she missed so badly, although he suffered from dementia and got lost all the time. ‘Sometimes I dream of him,’ she told, ‘but even more of my parents who have gone so long ago. Then they are standing at the door – they look very bright but vague at the same time. But it absolutely is them, I am sure about that. And they invite me to come with them.’ She went on: ‘But now I have only one problem left. Who will do my funeral when you are not there?’ Now and then I go to Germany to take some days off, but that is not far away. I promised her to come back if she might die just then. And she promised not to die just then, but have me enjoy my time off.

2. I know it was my wife

'My wife did not really go, well, she is gone, but not really. I’d like to tell about it, but not to everyone. It happened a couple of times, early in the morning when I woke up, but still stayed in bed for some minutes, when I saw the blankets move – exactly the way they move when somebody is lying there and wants to get up. I was surprised, because I did not move even my toe. How can the bed move at the side where I am not? Even when I would turn around the part of the bed where I was not could move this way. That should be impossible.

I stayed as calm as I could, without moving one muscle, and watched.
But the blankets did something funny again – again like someone was getting up. I was absolutely sure about that. And then someone called my name softly: ‘Bert, Bert.’
I already had the feeling that she walked behind me. Of course no one was there. So that must have been my imagination. But it was so real.
One night I was watching tv, just sitting in my own chair, exactly where I am now. And my wife always sat there, right where you are now. So I was watching tv and I heard from the chair she always sat her calling – and I exactly remember the sound of her voice: ‘Bert, Bert,’ I looked, but of course I didn’t see anything. An hour later the same voice – her voice calling me: ‘Bert, Bert,’ I felt good about it, I was not frightened or something like that. After a couple of days the same happened: ‘Bert, Bert.’ It was absolutely real – I did not imagine that – I am absolutely sure. She has gone, but at the same time she is still here. She might be waiting for me. I am not afraid to die, but yet I can’t say I am in a hurry.’

3. A message

Her husband, only 39 years Young, had been seriously ill. He could stay at home until he died, the wife succeeded in organising good home care. ‘Will you give me a signal when you arrive at your destination?’ she asked shortly before he died. He promised. She told me this story when I visited her about six weeks after the funeral.
‘Did he?’ I asked. ‘Yes, he did,’ she answered.
She told that in one very moment, while just cleaning the house, she heard a name in her head. And the name became louder and louder, over and over again.
She didn’t know that name, it was completely strange, so she tried not to pay attention on it, but the more she tried, the louder the name sounded. But she did not know the name –Finally she asked her family for information – the last person she asked was her grandmother, who started to cry, because it was the name of her dead born son – and until know nobody knew about this baby. For the first time in her long life grandmother had the opportunity to tell about her child.

The next story is very special, very moving. It is one of my favourites.
4. Someone held my hand

For about the first fifteen years of her life she considered Simon to be her father. But then he told her she actually was his grand daughter. She got very angry. ‘That’s not true! You are my dad!’
He told her the whole sad story. Slowly she started to call him ‘grandpa’, but she loved him the way she always did. Grandpa still was the very same as he always was – he brought her up, he took care of her.
Simon was raised in a Jewish German family that came to the Netherlands during the thirties of the 20th century. The family always was on the move in a small mobile home. He did not go to school, never learned to read and write.
During WW II he was kept imprisoned in three concentration camps, and three times he succeeded in escaping on foot.
He married a Roman Catholic woman, but since he turned out to be gay they divorced.
Despite all these problems he learned to enjoy life – his yellow Jew star was a sign of honour.

Simon died at the age of 80. His grand daughter was devastated. She asked me to say the Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the deceased, and just one sentence of it in Hebrew would be wonderful – finally there would me German members of the family that still would know Hebrew. Of course I did. And she herself during the ceremony would light a white candle which she afterwards would take home.
At that very day she was not well – and I wondered if her legs would be able to carry her. In her eyes one could see a big grieve.
To my great surprise her hand was very steady when she lit the candle.
When I saw her after the ceremony I asked her: ‘How come?’ ‘I’d to do it for my dearest grandpa,’ she said. That was the only phrase she spoke clearly.
She had not heard or seen nobody. She didn’t hear nothing of my speech, not even the words in Hebrew. She did not know who was there, or how many people were there. She just looked like a very old, sad and vulnerable woman.

A couple of weeks later I visited her. The expression on her face was very peacefully. Her voice was clear and her back straight.
About the lighting of the candle she told that someone hold her hand. There was in fact nobody to see, but yet – someone hold her hand.
And that she didn’t know anything at all was because grandpa was there, just behind his coffin, and he waved at her. And now he visited her now and then, it always was at night, and he touched her cheek.
Her grandchild, so Simon was a grand grandpa, saw him as well. The child, two years old, told that grandpa was looking very friendly and he wore a ring at his right ring finger. The child described the ring – which had never seen it before, because grandpa did not ware it for years.
Except for this child there were others who saw grandpa. She told me that grandpa was in contact with grandma, of whom he divorced so many years ago. Both of them understood why it was better to live apart from each other. And now it was no problem anymore – nobody gets married to nobody – it is all right now.
She misses him – she will definitely miss him for a long time to come. But grandpa is fine and that counts.
And he absolutely will take care of her, that’s for sure.

Do you want to share a story, or would you like to ask a question? Please contact me me at cwolters@xs4all.nl I always react.

Someone did. Her question was: 'What happens when somebody saw her death in her dream?'
Well, you might ask yourself a question: What did I bury? Is it bas memories from the past? Is it a relationship which has ended or has to come to an end? Dying in a dream often means the end of a special period which is no longer of any use - and the beginning of something new.

Take care, and good luck!