People you meet in heaven
tl;dr: do paths cross again? On an encounter with death.
When I practice meditation outside, I prefer to do it barefoot.
There’s something about connecting body with earth that, for me, enhances the experience.
Recently, my practice has been frustrating.
I’ve been having a very difficult time concentrating. I would imagine that this has something to do with the severe bouts of insomnia with which I am dealing and a recent depression diagnosis.
So, while I was sitting, it felt like my mind was wandering even more than usual.
Normally, I try to remain still during the sit, but my mind was fidgeting and I struggled to return focus to the breath, so I wiggled my toes and felt the earth beneath them.
And when I did, I though of Mr. Rothberg.
Meet Mr. Rothberg
I hadn’t encountered Mr. Rothberg ever before in my life until last Sunday night.
Mr. Rothberg had died that morning and I was standing, with three other men, next to the body that had once been inhabited by Mr. Rothberg. Whatever that means, I don’t know, but his soul, spirit, and life were gone. Just the body that had been utilized by him remained.
The four of us are part of the “chevra kadisha”, which is the ritual team responsible for preparing a Jew’s body for burial.
At this point, I’ve done it 50 or 60 times so I’m well past the “heeby jeeby” part of it and I use the time for solemn reflection on the fleeting nature of life and such things, as well as the practical matter of performing the ritual washing and cleansing, etc.
Most of the time, the team has no additional information about the deceased aside from his full name and a few other particulars, so you don’t get a real sense of who the person was.
Every now and then, however, there’s a distinguishing element to the process. In one case, there was a picture of the man from an earlier time where he was wearing a joke tie and a huge smile.
Mr. Rothberg had a tattoo of an animal on his arm.
When that is all you have to go on, there isn’t much, but it’s an opening to imagine what kind of person he had been. What was the story behind the tattoo or the joke tie?
So, while the ritual is a very somber and reserved process, every now and then (it also depends on the teammates), someone, well, I, will make some sort of comment that is meant to lighten the mood.
I did this with Mr. Rothberg’s body. Nothing disrespectful, but just a small joke and I said, “I think he’s the kind of person who would have appreciated that one.”
Of course I don’t know and have no way of knowing.
But then it hit me. What if I will know?
Really Meeting Mr. Rothberg
I recently read Mitch Albom’s book, “The Next Person You Meet in Heaven” about, well, people meeting people from their lives in heaven (I guess the title does the job, right?)
And I thought to myself: “What if I will actually meet Mr. Rothberg (and all the others) in Heaven one day?”
That would be fascinating to know how close I was (or wasn’t) from my guess about their personalities from one clue, like a joke tie or a tattoo.
One of the things we say at the beginning and end of the ritual is to ask for forgiveness for any disrespect we inadvertently show during the course of the process. So, I’m not particularly worried about being “blamed” or ‘guilty” of something.
I’m just curious.
But this morning, I realized Mr. Rothberg was actually sitting next to me, so to speak. Don’t worry, I wasn’t hallucinating.
Mr. Rothberg’s Gift
It was at the moment when I felt the earth beneath my feet that I thought, “you know, Mr. Rothberg is never going to have this feeling again, I should cherish it.”
And that brought me back to the present, to recognizing that, no matter what all of the thoughts flying through my head were at that time, I had the gift of being able to feel the earth beneath my feet.
One day, I’m going to be the guy on the table.
Maybe the team prepping me will get a sense of what I was all about, maybe not. Maybe I’ll meet Mr. Rothberg, maybe not. Maybe my team will meet me, maybe not.
But it doesn’t really matter. The present is the present.
Thanks, Mr. Rothberg.