Lance, You know we disagree, at times, but stay friends. Here, am not disagreeing, so much as reminding everyone of other ways of thinking
that could be true. You say, perhaps Heath is off somewhere, in some unknown land, where his gifts are needed. Maybe. I notice that others
would have him floating in the clouds, or out in the stars of the night. Gone. Away. But am sure you know, Lance, of the latest science, so
difficult to accept--string theory-which says there are 4-5 or more dimensions to our reality or existence (actually, to matter). Let's not get into
that, but, if even the scientists say there's more than what we see, then the poem in this thread about death being nothing at all (H.S.Holland)
is also a valid way of seeing where the lost loved one is----
"Why should I be out of mind, because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you for an interval, somewhere very near,
just around the corner."
I don't think, looking at how we are made, that we float away into some vague cloud. To be blunt, I think we are dead as a door nail (harsh as
that may seem) or.....we're still there, still real, somewhat more aware of what life can really mean, and ever near to those we loved and those
who have loved us.
I love that poem, and saw it for the first time in this thread. And it exactly fits my belief that we are not so made, that we transform into
some vagueness, nor even some other journey. We were given a home. I don't think it's temporary. Nor are we roamers drifting through
some mindless, cloudy, metaphysical ocean. We were made real, with distinctive ways. And so I think it's possible, what that poet said:
"Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped away into the next room
......whatever we were to each other, that we still are."
No quarrel with anyone else's beliefs or wonderings....I'd just remind those who might want to be reminded---don't say good-bye. The loved
one leaves off the daily ways of life, but stays....nearby. Because their loves were their homes. At any rate, that poem is, for me, everything.